


The Boss

by springsahwolie (sin0sijak)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Minor Character Death, Possible Character Death, death mysteries everywhere, rich kids and illegal companies AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-06-26 04:31:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15655815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sin0sijak/pseuds/springsahwolie
Summary: There's no rule saying that the new kid, the smart kid, had to be bullied. Mark was that kid; quiet, likable, new enough to be interesting and typical enough to be forgotten quickly. Taeyong was everything but. Always saying exactly what was on his mind, attending the same school since the start and seemingly trying for a notorious image, always interesting, always in the spotlight, and always sleeping during calculus. With his bright red hair and legs that rested more on his desk than any book he owned, Taeyong was exactly what Mark Lee had been hoping to avoid when his family moved into Seoul. But, new kids never get it there way, don't you know?





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> This work is also posted under AFF (under the same Author name)

"They say his family's super scary"

 

"Just 'scary?' Have you lived in a cave your whole life?"

 

"Why? Why?!"

 

"His family is pretty much a gang!"

 

"I heard it's not just 'pretty much' ~~ It IS a gang! The real deal!"

 

"Omo! Really? I've seen everything now... How can he afford this school?"

 

"You think gangs these days are the same? They're always reaping in illegal money!"

 

"And they probably evade taxes!"

 

"No wonder... look at all his ear piercings and expensive rings!"

 

Taeyong lifts his head abruptly and the students all hush each other with a finger to their lips while glancing at him nervously. They speak as if he's not right there listening to everything they have to say, and then choose to shut up because he reacted. What were they expecting? He turns to them slightly and smirks, a fair warning for them to shut their cakeholes. They all shove their heads into books, suddenly really interested in their academic works. Cowards; can't even say it to his face, huh?

 

"Ignore them," Jaehyun drawls.

 

Taeyong scoffs. It's easy for him to say that, his family's probably worse. Taeyong lifts his eyebrows at the others grouped around him. Doyoung's simply chatting with Lucas while Jungwoo steals bites of the bread in his hand. Sicheng is playing a game on his phone, uninterested (and probably not even understanding) what the other students had to say. Come to think of it, all of their families are pretty bad. Guess they got used to the trash talking, but Taeyong was still a little too soft on the inside. Having his servants beat the living shit out of anybody who remotely hurt his feelings in any way didn't help him become hardened to the reality. The reality that was high school. His home, his business, his family (he'll admit), were all harsh, but they could never beat the kids these days that went to war everyday in high school. They'll rip you apart, sprinkle salt on old wounds, use cunning tactics, threats, you name it - they'll do it to stay on top of every hierarchy they can manage to think up. To stay on top of all of that, Taeyong fought tooth and nail, with everything and anything that dared to stand in his way for longer than a minute. Until _**he**_ came along.

 

"You really going to let him keep sitting there? That's your spot," Jaehyun juts his chin in the new student's direction and Taeyong pretends to be uninterested as he turns to watch Mark. The thick black framed glasses, neat hair, perfect bow and uniform to top it all off. Bleh - they were the type Taeyong hated the most because he actually admired them for having their life together. Yet, they were always complaining about how hard it was to be perfect. Disgusting. Mark looks up, sees that Taeyong is watching and throws an awkward smile accompanied by a half wave, his confused fingers dangling in the air mid-hello. Taeyong quickly turns and looks at Jaehyun trying to be convincing:

 

"Yeah, let him have the seat. I was getting bored sitting in the same place anyway."

 

* * *

 

It IS a story about gangs so rated M for violence and language (just to be safe)

**TRIGGER WARNING**  for.... *don't keep going if you can be triggered by mentions of sensitive topics*

 

violence, and blood, (self harm and suicides possibly included. Just to be safe I'll put a warning since the get go)


	2. Game Changer

Mark has a dilemma, and it’s only his first thirty minutes in his new school’s office. To tell the guide student that he’s a scholarship transfer, or to not slap that label on himself on the first day of school.

 

“So, how did you end up here?”

 

Mark grips his uniform and smiles slightly, clueless (or at least, doing a good job pretending to be). He knows exactly what they want, and need, to find out about him. Basically, the kid wanted to rank him and then spread the rumor around so everybody else in the school knew where to place him on their hierarchy. If his family owned more than theirs, or if his family had a more important title, then he would be treated like a prince. If, however, the other student’s family was more wealthy and important, Mark would have to go under. Scholarship student. It automatically meant everybody knew he would be the underling. The ‘bread shuttle,’ the one they can order around, the one to carry backpacks, the one they can step on like dirt and then throw their worthless dollar bills at. The subservient human creature. His ‘being’ at the school would simply be to serve.

 

 _‘Shit… I don’t know, whatever…’_ Mark consoles himself slightly by saying he’ll eventually figure things out. Rich kids couldn’t be all that terrible, right? This wasn’t like that drama, The Heirs, was it?! Surely the TV exaggerates to prove a satirical point. Before the worry could stop him from delaying the truth, Mark spills what might make or break his high school career.

 

“I’m a scholarship student.”

 

“Oh.” The guy’s face fell before for a slight fraction of a second before he was immediately smiling. “Try to keep that on the DL, okay?” When Mark threw him a quizzical stare, the guy clarified, “Down. Low. They’re not really nice to scholarship students. Jealous because you can probably actually study, ya know?”

 

Mark admits, he was pleasantly surprised that he found a genuine person so quickly. In one shot, at that. Also, he was quite suspicious. It almost seemed too good to be true. This guy seemed to have no consciousness about Mark’s status compared to his own. 

 

“Name’s Johnny! You’re Mark, right? Let’s be friends. Wanna eat with me during lunch?”

 

“You sure? Won’t they bother you too?”

 

Johnny shrugged, “I don’t really care. You seem chill, so when kids ask ‘how you got to this school’ because they don’t want to be straightforward about wanting to judge, just say you’re friends with me and to stop pestering you. Let’s try to hide the fact that you’re a scholarship student for a very~~ long time, if possible, okay?”

 

Mark smiles widely at his friend, a friend willing to sacrifice his own name to make sure Mark had a comfortable school life. He could tell that he really would end up liking Johnny, if he didn’t already. “Thanks! Let’s eat lunch together! I’ll share my lunch with you,” Mark whispers excited and Johnny looks at him with something like respect, “Really?! For reals? Yes! Extra portions! You’ll regret it dude, today is hamburg steak.”

 

Johnny was a good guide, funny, and Mark instantly shed his awkward shell to talk to his classmate. It was to the point that Mark didn’t want Johnny to leave him when they got to their classes, but of course they were seperated by the cruel bell and Mark had to fend for himself in homeroom. The teacher stands him up against the masses and puts him on display to the roaming eyes of his classmates.

 

Mark stands and purposely strengthens his back more, lifting his chin and settling his eyes on the nicest looking student he could find. A girl sporting a short bob and a warm, almost motherly and encouraging, smile. She leaned her chin onto her palm and looked at him as if he were the most interesting and important person in the whole room, the whole world even. In that moment, at least. 

 

“Hello. My name is Mark Lee. Nice to meet you all, please take care of me.” He bowed because it’s customary, but his body isn’t used to the thick silence that follows so he’s almost unsure if he should strengthen up again. The girl perks up and raises her hand while her body also shoots out of the chair with excitement, “how did you end up at our school?”

 

Mark looks at her, his previous image shattered. She proved to be just like all the others. He was beginning to think maybe that question was the school’s motto. Maybe even Johnny, the nicest kid Mark has encountered thus far, picked it up because he was influenced, unbeknownst to himself, by all the others. Even the teacher, whom Mark was sending discreet distress signals to, ignored him and looked expectant, like he too was waiting for the answer. Finally, as if they couldn’t bear the silence any longer, the redhead that was using a dictionary as a pillow lifts his face off the desk. 

 

“Kim Saemi,” the voice yawns, almost mechanical with its lack of emotion. She turns, like an excited child, to look at the student in the way back, in the last chair by the window, with his cross earring dangling in the sunlight. The diamonds catch a particular sunlight and make his face look like it’s literally sparkling.

 

“Yes, Taeyong?” Saemi’s voice is like sweet syrup oozing over dessert.

 

All eyes suddenly focus on the one student, Taeyong, and Mark finally feels like his breath has come back to him. For a brief moment it looks like Taeyong is just going to watch Mark, but he quickly changes his gaze’s direction towards the girl who’s standing in the middle of the class without knowing what to do, withering under Taeyong’s glare. 

 

“Shut the fuck up, will you? Your voice is hella annoying, it woke me up dammit!”

 

The kids all erupted into a collective laughter while Saemi plops down, pouting, but Mark’s eyes just widden at the blatant profanity displayed by Taeyong. The teacher slaps his table with a ruler and tells Mark to go sit by that “foul mouthed one.” Mark willingly complies, unintimidated, and actually excited to give his thanks. By the time Mark is back at his desk though, Taeyong’s head is back on the dictionary and his eyes peacefully closed; it was almost like he never moved and he certainly looked too pristine to bother. 

 

Therefore, the whole morning consisted of Mark wondering how he would thank Taeyong. It didn’t take long for his opportunity to show up. Almost like magic, Taeyong’s head shoots up as the lunch bell is ringing. If Mark hadn’t seen it himself he would never have known that Taeyong was asleep the whole time. He gets up to probably go get something to eat, but Mark notices he’s been too busy studying the guy and not actually doing enough talking to thank him. In a moments panic, Mark grabs Taeyong’s arm before he can leave and Taeyong looks down, shocked at the contact. “Sorry,” Mark’s face is equally dumbfounded as he swiftly lets go, while Taeyong quickly recovers and looks down at him from the top of his precisely god-gifted nose. “Whatever. What do you want?” Taeyong brushes his arm awkwardly, as if Mark had imprinted some thin film of grit on his sleeve.

 

“T-thanks… today. For this morning, it was kinda awkward for me to stand there you know and like… be watched and-“ Marks arms and hands move faster than his mouth, and although he knows exactly what he meant to say, it didn’t come out so smoothly as he planned. He had practiced over and over in his mind throughout the english lecture, yet he couldn’t get his tongue to do as he willed it.

 

Taeyong quickly smirks and hunkers down so his lips are by Mark’s ear, his arm loops around to grab Mark’s opposite shoulder and pull him close. Is it weird that he kinda enjoys how uncomfortable Mark seems under his touch? “Next time, maybe don’t make it obvious you’re a charity piece, ya?” Mark stiffens and Taeyong pulls away smoothly, joining Jaehyun at the door like nothing happened. Mark watches them leave, Jaehyun turns once to give him an intrigued glance before Taeyong grabs his attention again. Mark wants to chase them down and ask how Taeyong knew, and so quickly at that, but he didn’t really know if he could muster up the courage just yet. One encounter a day with Lee Taeyong seemed to be the limit for him.

 

* * *

 

“Ayo, Mark!” Johnny walks in like he owns the whole cafeteria and a young guy walks in, slightly embarrassed by the antics of his older friend. He looks like a freshman, at least, maybe even younger(?) if possible. His baby face was adorned by the cutest haircut in the world, and he smiled shyly. The other, also possibly a freshmen, tells Mark to ignore Johnny if at all possible. 

 

“My names Haechan.”

 

“I’m Jisung!” The other adds a little quieter, again blushing despite having done nothing to embarass himself. 

 

Mark greets them both then looks at Johnny curiously wondering if they knew about his status. The others are too busy filling their metal meal trays so Mark contents himself with doing the same. Follow the crowd, don’t stick out. Johnny, obviously a leader type out of all of them, decides to sit right in the middle of a table, and Haechan rolls his eyes like he’s used to sitting in the most inconvenient part of the whole room all the time. Mark takes a seat next to Jisung and picks cautiously at his food. He wonders if he has to be the one to start a conversation, or if one of the two new faces will ask him the dreaded question about how he ended up at SM Academy in the middle of the year. A school for the top of the top. The 1% of even the 1%. Either you had to be super rich, super famous, super important, or super all three. As if noticing Mark’s discomfort, Haechan stops his chopsticks midway and looks at him. Mark was busy staring holes into Johnny’s oblivious head to notice until Haechan finally speaks up. 

 

“Those two. Johnny should just give it over to Jisung, poor guy barely gets food at home while Johnny gets five star meals at his hotel.”

 

Haechan was of course referring to the fact that Johnny is busy headlocking Jisung and demanding he give over the last piece of Mark’s rolled egg side dish. Jisung claims he’s a growing child and needs the extra nutrients while Johnny’s claim is that elders should be taken care of by the younger. “You’re like 9 months older than me are you kidding?!” Jisung hollars. 

 

Mark looks at Haechan for an explanation and the younger freshmen smiles, “Jisung is like you, Mark. But nobody can know about it, okay?” Haechan winks and puts his finger against his lips while chewing the rest of his food. “You won’t tell, I know.”

 

Mark nods, “of course not. Thanks for trusting me.”

 

Haechan swallows and looks at Mark seriously. “Yeah, I figure you can kinda relate to Jisung, please take care of him. We’re friends, but... Johnny and I don’t really care about economic status but we’re still privileged. We don’t really understand the common world and sometimes I see that Jisung feels that. I’m hoping you don’t screw up like we do. I hope you can make him feel truly comfortable in this place.”

 

“Yeah,” Mark looks at Jisung smiling triumphantly while chewing the egg, “I hope so too.”

 

* * *

 

“What are your thoughts on the new kid?” Jaehyun asks while surveying the people down below. He rests his chin briefly on the metal railing before hissing and lifting his head. The sun was too hot for comfort.

 

“I wonder what his family does,” Jungwoo muses, trying to think if he’s ever heard the name Mark Lee in passing.

 

“Apparently nothing that broke a law, or else you’d know about them, right?” Yuta jokes, finishing the last of the steak his cook had prepared in the morning.

 

Jungwoo shrugs, “he could have gone through other law firms.”

 

Yuta looks at Jungwoo like he’s joking, “really? You own the three biggest ones in Seoul, plus isn’t your uncle a justice in the supreme court? You practically know every court case.”

 

Jungwoo shrugs like it’s no big deal, and compared to some of the accomplishments in the group he was with, it really wasn’t.

 

“Can we stop talking about him? I don’t need a headache, let’s not think,” Taeyong demands. Jungwoo plops down on a seat and pouts. Taeyong was sure in a sour mood ever since this morning.

 

“Something happen today?” Jaehyun asks, obviously catching onto the fact that Taeyong wasn’t his usual self (not that his usual self was particularly kind and sympathetic or anything, but he seemed more pissed than typical hangry Taeyong). Taeyong sighs while looking up at the blindingly clear sky. “So annoying,” he muses to himself. The weather always had to be so fucking perfect on his worst days so there wasn’t even an excuse to be cranky.

 

“Just another loan gone bad, pretty sure my brother took care of it.”

 

“Yikes,” Jaehyun scrunches his face and turns to Taeyong, “Taemin hyung came out to do it himself? How much did they borrow?”

 

Taeyong rolls his thumbs over his temples and shakes his head. “Something close to a million won, and there was no way they could pay it back. I think the father ran and left his 2 year old daughter.”

 

Jaehyun’s heart sinks and Doyoung wordlessly offers Taeyong his unopened banana milk. It was the best comfort he could offer at this point.

 

“How did Taemin Hyung do?”

 

“Didn’t even blink an eye,” Taeyong shivers. “I dropped the little kid off at the orphanage before school this morning.” Taeyong looks up at Jungwoo who’s grimacing uncomfortably. “Sorry,” he whispered. He knows it’s killing Jungwoo’s integrity. He knows it’s unfair to ask Jungwoo to be his friend when everything about his family’s business is wrong and not just borderline sketchy, but highly illegal. Jungwoo forces a kind smiles, his smiles were always kind. It seemed to be a universal trait of those who had to fake them regularly.

 

“Don’t worry about it Taeyong-ie hyung. Just don’t get caught up in it, okay? At least not to the point that I can’t help.”

 

Taeyong knows he shouldn’t be making any promises, he’s learned that ever since he could speak. Never bind yourself to any words, never show loyalty, never accept the terms and conditions set by the opposite party. Yet, when he looks at his group of friends who quietly wait for his answer, he can’t disappoint them. “Of course, who do you think I am?”

 

It’s as if the whole group that had been holding their breath collectively suddenly relaxed at the exact same moment. “Wanna go to the PC cafe after school?” Sicheng suggests, always the first to direct any bad vibes away from Taeyong’s direction, always the first to protect his hyung in his own way, just like Taeyong protected him.

 

“Sure,” Taeyong smiles, “If Sicheng wants to go, then we have to go.”

 

Jaehyun rolls his eyes, “of course, always dotting after your little son, right?”

 

Taeyong finally lets down his worries and laughs. It was always like this. Be a monster before school, be a monster after school, but at the least while he was in uniform, he could just be a kid. For once, with friends that understood both his world and his life, ones that supported him while living it themselves. Again, Lee Taeyong buries the pain and evolves, a little more numb, a little more cold hearted, a little more used to the terrible life that he had to live against his will.

 

* * *

 

“What area do you live in, Mark?” Johnny asks, with no malicious intentions whatsoever. He merely did not want Mark to walk a long way back home. If possible, Johnny hoped to choose a PC cafe closer to Mark’s residence because while Johnny had a car and a driver to pick him up whenever he needed it, he knew Mark would take a bus if he could and walk if he couldn’t.

 

Jisung waits expectantly for the answer, wondering if maybe they live close by. Jisung was the only one who didn’t walk towards the west after school ended. He lived in the ‘slums’ where roofs were discolored and doors were flimsy at best if they even existed.

 

Mark didn’t answer for a while, simply kicking his shoe into the ground. “I don’t… I don’t really...” He lowers his face, unable to meet the group’s eyes and Jisung’s heart jumps out of his chest with understanding. He’s been there. He was a kid on the streets once. He knew, and saw, and experienced, the curses. The senseless violence that traumatized him. The spit in his face, shoes in his ribcage, the old men peeing on his blankets because they were too drunk to recognize he was a human, not some street dog.

 

“Do you want to come live with me, Mark Hyung?”

 

Johnny and Haechan look at each other sharing a mutual shock. Once again, Jisung surprises them with his big heart. They say that the poor are better at sharing, at giving everything they have and more. While the two of them had multiple homes and many rooms in their penthouses, they couldn’t move themselves to offer a room to Mark - at least, not as fast as Jisung could. He didn’t even hesitate. It was as if the moment Mark mentioned his unfortunate circumstance, Jisung immediately knew what to do. Because that’s what he probably wished someone would do for him.

 

“It’s a shabby one room, but maybe we can find you a blanket and you can sleep next to the mini fridge? It’s cooler on that side.”

 

Mark’s eyes light up like Jisung is a savior and all of his problems washed away. It was merely a roof above his head, a thin metal plate that was supported by wood, but he looked so happy that Johnny bit his lips.

 

“There’s no way you two are sleeping on a blanket for Christs sake! At least buy a small mattress.”

 

Mark and Jisung look at him like he’s asking them to drop a million on him spontaneously. “I was going to go buy a new bed anyway, let’s see if we can get some deals done, alright?”

 

So, they passed the PC cafe, even when overwatch was calling their names. There was a little game called life that needed attention first. It didn’t wait for players to get ready, it didn’t give everybody the same starter pack, and it didn’t regenerate lives. What it did do however, was allow people from all walks of life and all over the world to somehow come together at the same time and try their hand at a round. Some had to carry their teammates, but the point was that in the end everybody should get out of it with something. The joy of winning, a lesson of defeat, the bittersweet recognition that some rounds end in a tie (no advancing forward, but fortunately no steps back). And then, one had to be prepped to start again. Johnny was given a premium pack to start, and he firmly believed that if he could, then there was no reason he shouldn’t hard carry his teammates. That’s what made them a team, and that’s what made them mates, and in the end of this ‘game’ it was all about the people, not the play.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE
> 
> Why is there barely any Taemark / Markyong stories out there?
> 
> Where is my POWER COUPLE'S WELL DESERVED SUPPORT YO?
> 
> Did ya'll sleep on the BOSS and TOUCH MVs?!
> 
> Ahem~ anyway, sorry for that ^^ Hope you liked the first chapter, if you have the time I would love feedback!
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> P.S: Some characters are out of character (because it's fiction), and since they're in high school they're mostly all the same age. They may refer to each other as 'hyung' depending on the year/month they were born in just for the sake of this AU


	3. Secrets

###  _**Leggo World ; In this space, there’s a secret -** _

Everyone probably had a stage in their life where the world revolved around them and only them. Where their relationships, their problems, their accomplishments, and their moments were the most important things in the world. Most of the time people call that period ‘puberty’ and in korea there was even a specific age assigned to this phenomenon of self absorbed attitudes : it was called “the middle school grade 2 disease.”

 

Second year of middle school Taeyong was the epitome of what he liked to call “youth enjoying the perks of the yolo clan.” In other words, he was right at that moment of his life where the whole world could be balanced in his hands. At least, it felt like that. Now that he thinks back to it though, there wasn’t much ‘enjoying’ during that stage of his life nor was there actually much he could really do. He was just a moody, rebellious kid who got off on harassing people around him and relishing in the fact that he was untouchable. His bodyguards, his parents, most of all his money protected him.

 

But how much could dirty paper give someone before it demanded something back?

***

_Shattered glass. Chunks of ice and expensive liquor. What kind of middle schooler drank whiskey instead of cheap soju? Something’s going off in the background, it was a sound that made Taeyong’s heart sink. The police sirens don’t bother him one bit. The screaming does. Strange; he should be equally used to both. Grown ass men wailing like they were being dragged through an abyss of their worst nightmares was laughable, wasn't it? Taeyong looks over at his partner in crime who's face is written with worry. He must be usering Taeyong to get up and flee, but he doesn't want to and when Taeyong doesn't want to he's unmoved. The screaming, the crashing, the pleading, the wailing of sirens all continue, but Taeyong is as placid as could be. He's at home. The warm and firm grip on his arm tells him that._

_***_

_“Taeyong! Please! Please -- help me…”_

_“F-fuck off. Don’t talk to me… you ---- trash…”_

_Taeyong can't really remember if he cursed or sputtered out gibberish because (like an old compture that buzzes out from time to time) his memory likes to do that just to torture him. What kind of person doesn't even remember exactly what they said to bring the world crashing down on them?_

 

_The orb looks like a mirage that's slowly filling a large void. Where Taeyong could once see the open expanse called the sky, he only finds a hunk of ugly rock slowly descending towards him. Like the moon crashing into a crater. Like something lodging itself into Taeyong's empty chest. There's no urgency to move, the sound of stone grinding on stone as the object fits into place reassures him even (that maybe things can fit perfectly like they did before... before... before when --_

 

_Hamburgers. To before he ever had a hamburger. It was from a fast food place, they called it burger king. Taeyong had scoffed because there was nothing royal enough to please a 'king' in the vicinity. The first bite might have changed his mind, if not all the way at least a tiny bit. Taeyong didn't know hamburgers could taste so good._

 

"Eat it."

 

_Why should he listen to that voice? How dare they tell him what to do... Taeyong shoves the food into his mouth and all but chokes. His tears make it extra salty, but call it pride because he keeps shoving it in. Without even losing a crumb, Taeyong folds in the burger relentlessly till all caverns of his mouth are filled and he can’t breath. The tears squeeze out of his two eyes, forcefully making room for the savory taste on his tongue to fill his whole being. Regular fattening mayo and cheap patties. Fries in his face, ketchup from little packets that took his greasy fingers forever to open. He grabs them in a fist and swallows them without even having time to chew, afraid everything will melt away like cheese. “See,” the floating burger in front of him talks and Taeyong waits for the one holding it to appear, but nothing does. “I told you these burgers would be good, hyung.” Why hadn’t Taeyong liked burgers back then?_

 

_And why do roller coasters go so damn fast? He has a headache. The gleeful cackling next to him sends shivers running through him. Wind blasts his face. His eyes rip apart and for a brief moment he catches the sunlight in his fingertips before everything crashes with the mechanical groan of rust eating the tracks. Taeyong can’t tell who is screaming anymore._

 

_Red sticky notes everywhere. “Please, don’t leave me… Taeyong… please,”_

 

_Taeyong rips the hand off of him, but they keep coming. From every direction, every orientation, he runs pass the clock and the silvery limbs stretch for him. Red fumes, ticking echos, ghostly whispers and gossamer touches that soon dig into his flesh like bullets._

 

_In the end he’s on the throne, alone. Money drops from the sky like rain, but he doesn’t care, Taeyong just wants to see him. One more time. Standing in the misty shadows, back facing him, why won’t he turn around? Taeyong’s vision bleeds red. Muster courage, use a voice that sounds foreign to himself, “Minsu?” Taeyong’s ears ring with the most horrid sound of cracking fire and crying._

 

_The boy turns, his mouth ripped apart like some cruel child took a doll and went off on it with a pair of scissors. Taeyong holds back a sob. First his fingers start shaking, and soon his whole body is violently convulsing. As the bills fall, yellow and green and blue and brown - with the faces of past royals on them, strings of meaningless numbers, Taeyong realizes what he gave up for the mountains made of worthless scraps of paper._

 

_“Don’t…” Taeyong begs. His voice has a desperation he’s never shown anybody before._

 

_“Isn’t this what you wanted all along?” The words ring in his mind, the boy’s lips don’t move._

 

_“No, NO!” He doesn’t know what will happen next, but it won’t be anything that will change the presiding mood of this terrifying nightmare. It will be something bad._

 

_The doll(?) opens his mouth, and things fly out in quick succession, like a paper gun spitting out cash. Taeyong looks down at his bare feet to see them sticky with blood.  Blood that’s pooling near him, rising, speeding up and looking like it’ll never stop. The doll floats away before sinking, absorbing the crimson red. Taeyong struggles with the current, the tendrils of thick liquid pulling him into a suffocating embrace._

 

“.....” Taeyong is so terrified he can’t even speak. No scream escape from his white lips. He simply clutches his heart to check if it’s still functioning properly, if he’s truly free from a deathly grip. His body is rigid, and he’s conscious of every cell that’s touching his mattress, damp with sweat. He feels gravity pressing him into his bed, the currents of cool circulating air on the hairs of his body making them rise, but he still is unable to feel his heart. Maybe he’s dead. He deserves it. He tells himself he really deserves it. Sadly, he can feel the red liquid of life gushing through every vein connected in his body. He’s hyper aware of how alive he is, the pulse beneath his fingertips, the exhale leaving his scratchy throat, even the blink of his empty eyes and the irritating scratch of a misplaced eyelash on the bags under his eyes.

 

“Lee Taeyong,” he sits up while calling out to himself, again an unrecognizable voice sounds in his ears and he thinks it's his, hoars with terror. Like an invisible string is tugging him from the mirror, Taeyong checks his reflection and lets the tears fall uninterrupted. “You’re insane.” The fluid silver rectangles of pure moonlight on his floor look like a cell, and Taeyong deliberately rolls off his giant bed, choosing instead to lay himself in the light. The hardness anchors him to a reality just like his dream. And even if his butler will freak out the next morning, Taeyong closes his eyes there, curled up like a child waiting for that haunted doll (because even if it was disfigured, it was his, and he never wanted to lose it again).

 

* * *

 

Jisung and Mark lay on their new mattresses and look at the tattered ceiling, if it could be called that anyway. It was more like a flimsy piece of scrap metal that looked like it could barely sustain itself, let alone bad weather conditions. Mark’s not complaining though, there was an outlet charging his phone, a roof over his head, and cool covers over his body. The only thing was, he wasn’t exactly that close to Jisung yet.

 

“So--”

“Is--”

 

They both stop, and Mark awkwardly clears his throat.

 

“You first, Hyung.”

 

“Oh. Um, is there any advice you can give me? You know, about surviving school?”

 

Jisung seems to ponder this question for a moment before carefully picking his words. He knows that his advice can either really help Mark or give him some sort of anxiety attack. Surviving SM Academy was harder than a normal high school, and normal high school wasn’t even an easy thing. “The two best pieces of advice is to: one, avoid Lee Taeyong and two, avoid his gang. If you avoid them I’m sure nobody else will really pay attention to you either.” Mark stays quiet for a second, and Jisung quickly adds on, “not that you’re not cool or good looking or anything, hyung! It’s actually a good thing for students like us to go unnoticed, you know what I’m trying to say?”

 

Mark turns in his bed to look over at Jisung, “Yeah… I get it, thanks!” He knew all along Jisung had good intentions.

 

“Sure thing Hyung. Let’s sleep, we have to get up earlier to catch a bus.”

 

Mark nods and closes his eyes, but the fact is that he can’t just fall asleep easily like Jisung. Because he doesn’t want to avoid Lee Taeyong. Mark guesses that’s why Jisung warns against going up to him. They had an irresistible charm about them. A hard pull that made others want to please them without ever being asked to do so. One look from them could make someone feel small, yet a nod of acknowledgment could mean the world.

 

Someone like Mark, someone like Jisung, someone like _**them**_ , weren't even allowed to want Taeyong’s attention like everybody else? That struck Mark as unjust, so much so that he squeezes his eyes hoping they won't tear up. Because everybody else was qualified. Heirs and heiresses of multi-million or multi-billion dollar households. Sons and daughters of people who ran the country, who oversaw education, the law, medicine, and all the things that made the nation run like it always did (maybe not smoothly all the time, but well enough to stand). Mark knows he doesn’t deserve to even be curious about Lee Taeyong, to share the same space as him. Yet. Why does he want to? He wants to be qualified, and for the first time since coming to the school he’s saddened, even slightly annoyed by the limitation Jisung mentioned.

 

He’s human. Taeyong, despite his godly looks and perfectly sculpted self, was also just a mere mortal, right? Taeyong had blood flowing through him, he hurt when he was pinched, he laughed when he felt joy, and he probably cried too. Mark could bet Taeyong had times where he felt vulnerable, exposed, maybe even embarassed or unsure of himself. Taeyong was limited by the power of physics, he couldn’t leave this world and float off into the universe while hoping to survive. Taeyong could jump out of an airplane, but he’d still fall downwards to imminent death. He didn’t have wings, gravity was still a thing even for the likes of Lee Taeyong. Right?! Taeyong was limited, he was human. Why did Mark have to watch out for him? Why couldn’t they just naturally get closer, share a space, breath the same air, exsist in the same plane?

 

Mark’s phone dings and makes him jump out of his trance. He looks at the pleading message and immediately deletes it with a heavy heart. Even if he were qualified, would he choose Taeyong’s world? Shaking his head, Mark turns to see Jisung kick the blanket off in annoyance while sleeping still. It was still summer, and even if human nature needed a blanket for cover when awake, it rejected such restrictions when in dream. Mark snickers at the cute action before closing his eyes, trying to find a sleep that can shush the chaos in his conflicted mind. To choose Taeyong would be to choose that life, and Mark's not quite sure yet if that redheaded ~~hottie~~ is worth it.

 

* * *

 

“Where are you sitting today?” Kim Saemi asks as soon as Mark walks into the class. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was waiting specifically for him. While flattered, that would probably be over reaching so Mark just shrugs, unsure of how to answer.

 

“We get to pick where we sit everyday?”

 

“Yeah… that’s how we do it here.”

 

Mark scratches his head and blinks at her, “Is this a korean thing?”

 

She looks slightly taken aback, but it only lasts a second. Pressing her body up to his arm she gives herself permission to slip off his bag from its resting place on Mark’s shoulder. Mark blushes because he can feel his tongue bloating and becoming unusable in his mouth. He wants to tell her that her boobs will probably pop against his arms. “Duh it's a korean thing… you speak like you’re not korean.” She lets her words run off like she’s waiting, hoping, for him to correct her. Any fool could sense it.

 

“Stop flirting Kim Saemi!” a boy with the worst haircut Mark had ever seen in his 18 years of life laughs at her from the back of the class, propped against the mini lockers.

 

“Fuck off Shin!”

 

Mark looks down at the top of the girl’s cute head with surprise. Such foul language, from such a cute and tiny and pure looking girl. Then again, everybody here was acting, right? Acting like they could all stand and tolerate each other. Like they would be friends forever, like what their peers said to them meant something. Like they didn’t care about status, like all of them were the same 1% when in reality, even the top was divided - with way more restrictions and qualifications.

 

“I’m actually Canadian…” Mark confesses quietly, but that doesn’t miss the keen ears of his female classmate (all of them, to be exact). A guy who looked wholly average before suddenly seemed to have had a (+100 charm point) title ding next to him and all the girls waved. Mark didn't know what to do with the newfound interest that changed simply because of his birthplace, so he adjusts his glasses and shyly waves back, avoiding eyecontact when possible. Besides, Saemi was doing a good job pulling him towards her destination.

 

“No way! Can you help me with english then?” Saemi naturally leads him to a seat and puts his bag down. Mark looks at it unsure. He might have been really kind and innocent, and thus maybe kinda easy, but he knew his boundaries. That seat with his personal belongings on it was the exact place Lee Taeyong had been in just yesterday. The TOP (jjang) student of any school wasn’t swayed easily, therefore they didn’t heed territory easily either. Especially to a new kid. Whether in Korea or Canada, that was a universal fact. It was written in the Golden Handbook of being a High Schooler. 

 

“What the fuck?”

 

Speaking of the devil. Mark practically lunges for his stuff, but Taeyong grabs the back of his jacket, halting him in his process. Everyone in the class freezes and Doyoung steps up, nervous. “Taeyong it’s oka-”

 

“Be careful,” Taeyong softly plops Mark down onto the chair like he’s a doll he picked up in a crane game, “You’ll trip before you even get into your seat if you jump around like that.”

 

Mark’s round eyes practically pop out of their sockets and Doyoung clears his throat slightly embarrassed for overreacting. Call it instinct, but after being best friends for over 10 years he knew Taeyong so well he could probably sense fights hours before they even happened. Well, most of the time anyway, apparently this time was an exception. Plus that new kid was… Doyoung looks at him again and swallows thickly, the need to extinguish the fire in his stomach intensified every second he looked at Mark, but Doyoung had to wait.

 

“Isn’t this your seat?” Mark asks, with what confidence the onlookers have no idea. Was that guy always like that? Was he born with a bulletproof mentality on top of thick skin? What in the world would make him want to question Taeyong right after obviously taking his seat?

 

Taeyong slams his foot down on the edge of Mark’s chair, barely missing his thigh making the poor boy yelp with utter surprise. When he leans in Mark flinches. Doyoung can’t help but smirk while watching it all unfold, so the new guy was human, and could indeed sense danger. “There’s something you should know new student,” Taeyong suddenly straightens and sweeps his arm to encompass the whole class, which comply to his demand for undivided attention by falling absolutely quiet. “These are all my seats. You happen to be in just one of them.” Before Mark can reply, with how ridiculous and rude he thinks that is, Doyoung steps in and brings the far swerved attention back to the person who should be getting it.

 

“Ya, Kim Saemi… Why’d you lie to Mark?”

 

Mark looks at Doyoung and squints. He was the first student in homeroom to call him by his name. Mark can’t help but smile a little, some sort of appreciation blooming in the left side of his chest, warming him up and making his body slightly relax in a seat that felt like it was made of needles just seconds ago.

 

“I-I didn’t?”

 

Doyoung smiles sweetly at her, but when he steps closer a chilling aura surrounds the two. Everybody continues with what they're doing. Unlike Taeyong, his best friend, Doyoung didn't like to do things in a flashy fashion, so naturally people lost interest. Which meant nobody knew that he was ten times more cunning than his redhead counterpart. “Don’t ever trick him again. If you ruin Mark's standing with Taeyong, I’ll ruin you.” Doyoung steps away with the freshest and most innocent smile still playing over his lips; nobody would even suspect the words he uttered to Saemi. When she all but weakly flops into her desk, people ask her what’s wrong. Doyoung clears his throat loudly, still pleasantly throwing sunny glances at his other classmates and asking about their morning.

 

“Nothing,” Saemi replies breathlessly, glaring in Mark’s direction. What was so amazing about that fresh dork anyway? “I just don’t feel that great.” _And I’m going to make sure he doesn’t either._

 

* * *

 

It’s lunch time and students all run for the cafeteria in a mad scramble like they’re possessed by their hunger. Mark's pretty sure they don’t even know what real hunger was. Someone, suspiciously a girl with short and knifelike choppy hair, knocks over Mark’s pencil case sending mechanical pencils of all colors flying over the floor. Taeyong starts, but quickly shoves his hands into the uniform pockets and heads for the door when he sees (surprisingly) Doyoung hunker down to help Mark. “Go ahead with Jaehyun, I’ll catch up.” Taeyong sniffles, but Mark doesn’t even look up from the floor. He could still offer to help but - “Okay!” Jaehyun grabs his arm - maybe Taeyong will offer help next time. For now, he's glaring at his two 'friends' for taking away a golden opportunity to talk to that seagull eyebrowed lil charity boy. ' _Ugh. So annoying.'_

 

* * *

 

“Thank you,” Mark breaths out a sigh and looks towards the door to see if Taeyong is really gone.

 

“About what? The pencils, or this morning?” Doyoung knows that Mark also knows Saemi didn’t have the nicest intentions when giving Mark the last seat by the window.

 

“Both?” Mark asks, laughing a little at his unsure answer and to dissipate the awkward air surrounding them.

 

“So… how have you been?”

 

Mark stiffens and opens his mouth, but no words escape. He ends up staring at a half serious, half amused Doyoung who clearly was beginning to enjoy his distress.

 

Doyoung grabs his arm, “didn’t think I’d remember?” They quickly stand in unison while Doyoung looks around for people watching. He didn’t want any weird rumors or anything, but he had been dying to get a hold of Mark ever since he stood up their looking like a lost lamb thrown to the lions. Doyoung could tell right away, but why had it taken Mark so long to remember him? _'Did he even remember me? Ahh… talk about my non existent impression_.' Doyoung chases the melancholy thoughts away and finally shoves Mark into a staircase. The heavy door slams closed and Mark’s back also slams onto the wall.

 

“Miss me?” Doyoung whispers, smoothing his fingers up Mark’s arm and inspecting his uniform’s perfect collars. Lil guy, was still as neat as ever.

 

“Not exactly? You were kinda mean to me,” Mark replies frankly, swallowing his accumulating saliva nervously. Doyoung chuckles lowly, that was his Mark alright, always so frank and honest.

 

“Shame… if you said yes, I was going to keep your secret.”

 

Call it survival instincts, but Mark’s body immediately knew what to do and how to handle the sticky situation that was Kim Doyoung. Mark quickly grabs Doyoung’s shoulder to steady himself and plants a nice peck onto the elder’s soft white cheek. So quickly that one would have missed it if they’d blinked. Doyoung pulls back, shocked but not necessarily unhappy. In fact, with his eyes still wide open and mouth turning upwards, he lets out a incredulous breath that sounds like it’s closely related to his laugh.

 

“I remember you would shut up when you were flustered,” Mark smiled, carefree and literally shining with glee at his brilliance. Punk. “Please keep this secret for me Hyung~ please?”

 

Doyoung quickly composed himself, which included suppressing a giggle. “If you give me a peck on the other cheek, I’ll think about it…” Call him evil, call him an opportunist, call him an extroter, but Doyoung always somehow got what he wanted, and he had wanted Mark Lee since day one - all those years ago, 2013 on a summer day in Canada.

 

* * *

**A/N: The italics are dreams / flashbacks / thoughts**

**I know this is a pretty confusing chapter that's all over the place (because of Taeyong's nightmare mostly) but I promise everything will be explained in due time. I don't really like revealing things too openly / quickly like 'tada here you go'**

**My goal is to give enough to have a descent idea, but not too much so theories can be shared.**

**Which reminds me, if you have time I'd love a comment (feedback - notice not hate please- helps me so much!)**

**Also: I live for crack ships (in case you haven't noticed) and Doyoung x Mark needed some love so... what's their secret?! I wonder.**


	4. Mask

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU so much for the comments! Reading them has been amazing for me ^^  
> Integrating the lyrics to Boss into this actual fic was harder than I thought haha *oops*  
> Oh well~ I hope you all like this chapter!

They say keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. But what was Mark Lee?

 

Taeyong didn’t consider him an enemy. It wasn’t like Mark was a threat to him, in any way you looked at it, Taeyong was higher on the pyramid. He obviously had more wealth, more popularity, better looks. Well, maybe the last one was objective. Maybe Mark was a different kind of good looking. Like the cute, and squishy, and dorkily adorable in his round glasses type, and so maybe Taeyong was pissed off that his heart kinda lurched the moment he laid eyes on the new guy.

  
  
At first, Taeyong had no intentions of even getting up, but something about the student’s silence alerted him to trouble, and he got curious. This student obviously wasn’t like the rest. While most who came to the academy relinquished in rattling off how much wealth their family had, what past school from abroad they came from, who their fathers and mothers and great aunts were, this kid stayed quiet. “Kim Saemi...” It might have been that curiosity that first made Taeyong look up, but what happened next surprised even him.  
  


“Shut the fuck up will you? Your voice is hella annoying, it woke me up dammit!”  
  


The kids all laugh and Mark looks at him with eyes gushing, overflowing with gratitude, something that makes Taeyong’s cheeks rise with a certain warmth. He then realizes he has just stood up for the kid, and he’ll probably want to say something. For a minute _**the**_ Lee Taeyong panics. So, he does the thing that - obviously -  comes to him naturally in that moment. He slams his head back onto the dictionary (admittedly a little too hard and suddenly for comfort), trying to ignore Mark as he walked closer. Thankfully it seemed to work.

 

For a while, anyway. Mark, despite how seemingly soft spoken he had appeared, apparently had guts. Before Taeyong could whiz himself off to lunch, Mark had grabbed a hold of his arm. Startled at the contact, Taeyong had to mentally chant to himself to play it off smooth. Calling Mark ‘charity’ (the slang term kids used for scholarship students), wasn’t really what he had meant to do. It seemed Mark either didn’t know, or ignored, the gravity of the word because he didn’t look too offended. Still, Taeyong would be banging himself over the head thinking about that moment for a while.

 

Just because he wasn’t an enemy though, didn’t mean Mark was Taeyong’s friend, yet. Mark wasn’t a friend. Taeyong only really made friends with people that were like him, he’d never had a commoner friend before. Unless you count the boy that used to be his maid’s son. When his parents found out the boy would take Taeyong shopping in the open air markets and teach him how regular people lived, they said he was a bad influenced and fired the maid. Thus, ever since he was little Taeyong knew that there was a definite “them” and “us” in the world.

 

“So why would I want to keep him close?” Taeyong mutters to himself, bathing in the sun like he always does. The roof of their school was luckily never inhabited, but maybe that was because of his presence more than anything else.

 

“Keep who close?” Taeyong rolls his eyes. Of course his intrusive best friend who didn’t know the meaning of privacy was able to sneak up on him. 10 years of friendship and Taeyong still can’t hear Doyoung coming, one would think by this time he’d able to tell by his breathing since he hears it so frequently.

 

“None of your business,” Taeyong snaps, although he’d never really be able to be annoyed at Doyoung, he likes to pretend like he is all the time. Doyoung’s quite used to it however, and goes on unfazed.

 

“How about we keep the new kid close?”

 

Taeyong looks at Doyoung with the most quizzical expression ever, but Doyoung decides to ignore it. He can feel the fierce gaze burning into the side of his head, but he looks straight ahead, not taking silence for an answer. What he doesn’t know is that Taeyong isn’t particularly mad about the suggestion, on the contrary he was simply wondering if Doyoung somehow due to his nosy personality developed a way to read minds now too. That would mean world domination, for sure.

 

“Let me watch him for a while longer, see if he has what it takes to be part of our group.”

 

Doyoung makes a slightly uncomfortable face, but he knows ultimately Taeyong has to like them for a person to join the group. Although nobody says it, Taeyong was the official leader of their little gang. He had the charisma, the compassion, and most importantly the drive to protect all the people who joined them. Taeyong was loyal, something one wouldn’t expect the higher a person was in power. It was a given that if someone joined the gang, they were also under his watch - anyone who touched his fam would rather be better off dead.

 

“What do you mean by ‘what it takes’? How useful he is, how much power he has, or Mark’s personality?”

 

Taeyong is again surprised that Doyoung memorized Mark’s name already, even without getting Taeyong’s approval. If Taeyong were to say that Mark couldn’t hang out with them, then there would be no need for Doyoung to even know or acknowledge that Mark existed. Cruel, but the truth. The fact that Doyoung already referred to him as Mark meant one thing, he either already knew Taeyong would approve, or Doyoung really really just wanted him to.

 

“All three. But my standards aren’t too high,” Taeyong smirks, suddenly in a much better mood than before, and gets up. “We better get to class.”

 

“Since when did you ever worry about being on time to class?” Doyoung questions. Good point.

 

 _‘Since Mark Lee sat next to me.’_ Taeyong scoffs. “I’m a great student, my attendance is amazing.”

 

Doyoung rolls his eyes so hard Taeyong can see the whites of them, “yeah, but your consciousness is never present.”

 

* * *

 

Mark wonders if he should wait for Johnny and the rest because they didn’t mention going anywhere together, like they usually did, during lunch. However, if the pattern from the few days persisted, they would find something to do together now that school was out.

 

“Hey newface.”

 

Mark turns to attention, his eyes enlarging behind his glasses. “Me?”

 

“See any other new kid around?” Taeyong gestures, but it’s basically only the two of them. The sea of students had trickled down to a calm flow and the few who were passing by in groups or pairs didn’t pay them attention. Mark didn’t know if it was because he was uninteresting, they thought Taeyong was about to beat him to a pulp and didn’t want to get involved, or they didn’t dare loiter around in Taeyong’s presence. Possibly all three.

 

“What can I do for you?” Mark asks, nervously. He heard that in Korea bullies and ‘tough guys’ send the weak to buy them alcohol or smokes. He’d never really seen anything like that in Canada, but then again, in Canada he wasn’t in this 'outsider' position. Mark catches his negative thoughts and chided himself within his mind, _‘Don’t think the worst of him, maybe he wants to ask how school is going.’_

 

Taeyong looks hesitant, not helping Mark’s nervousness one bit. After moments of breathtaking silence (which felt like days under the hot sun for Mark), as if finally deciding on his words Taeyong speaks. “Do you like burgers?”

 

Mark perks up, although the question is a bit random. “Yeah~ I used to have them all the time with my buds after school.”

 

Taeyong clears his throat and slings his backpack over a shoulder, “Let’s go.”

 

Quickly forgetting that he was waiting for others, Mark follows like a magnet drawn towards Taeyong. He couldn’t refuse the offer. Correction. The command. It was like Taeyong was a boss, and Mark was the helpless underling who would follow him to the ends of the world. All it took was a little attention, and one flick of the head from the ridiculously good looking Lee Taeyong. _‘I think, in Canada we’d call this ‘whipped,’_ Mark Lee tells himself. He is totally screwed. He knows he’s screwed. He admits, he’s **_screwed_**. Why should he willingly follow this guy (who as Mark has observed through his few days in school), was obviously a problematic student? Always running around, mouthing off the teachers, sleeping in class. Mark could quite literally be a victim in a broad kidnapping scheme. But don’t they usually lure kids with candy? Taeyong offered a hamburger, right? He’s willing to drop more money than a lollipop, maybe he was a kind and misunderstood soul. A hamburger couldn’t hurt, right? For a second, he forgets to heed Jisung’s warning, but he hopes Jisung will understand. It’s free food! Thus, Mark is able to successfully convince himself, somehow, that following Taeyong was a great idea. He was just forgetting that nothing in this world, although it may be presented as so, is actually free.

 

* * *

 

“I’ve been meaning to ask this,” Mark finally opens some conversation after getting their orders and sitting down, “how did you know I was umm… ‘charity’ as you said?”

 

Taeyong looked at Mark up and down. Mark wasn’t a guy with low self esteem but the way Taeyong’s roaming eyes seemed to pick him apart did make him conscious of the way he looked. Mark sat a little straighter, and Taeyong finds that kinda, very, cute causing him to smirk. Taeyong does acknowledge that there is an awkward and cautious air around the two, like Mark is somehow afraid to set him off and Taeyong was a ticking bomb waiting to bring out his true self. The rumors about him in school weren’t nice, and he’s sure Mark’s heard plenty of them. Some of them, although he didn’t ever confirm them, weren’t actually rumors either. Taeyong also knows that Mark hangs out with Johnny and Haechan and that other kid, people who probably didn’t have the brightest things to say about him. So, Mark’s actions do make him slightly, frustrated? No, Taeyong realizes he’s more upset, and possibly saddened, even if he won’t admit it, at being misrepresented.

 

“It’s just, the way you style yourself,” Taeyong shrugs. He feels like if he’s too friendly it would seem weird at this point, so he tries to be nonchalant. Every second though, he doubts everything that leaves his mouth. Maybe he should be frank with Mark and tell him that he’s hella nervous, but then he imagines Mark rolling in laughter at finding out that his stupid little smile could disarm the Lee Taeyong, second born to a corporation that was practically Seoul’s mafia.

 

“But we wear uniforms,” Mark looks down. Everyone looked the same, how had Taeyong figured out.

 

Taeyong points at his shoes, his watch, and his wallet that was out on the table. “This is someone who knows how to spend money, or at the least has a stylist that spends money.” Then, Taeyong points at Mark’s converse, his bare wrists, his tie that didn’t have a clip, and his uniform that was neither studded nor decorated with an assortment of pins.

 

Mark makes a face of understanding, before it quickly falls. “Does that mean everyone else also knows?”

 

Taeyong hadn't really thought of it, also he wasn't that worried. That was probably because he already knew he would protect Mark, but Mark himself probably had a lot of things to worry about. “I guess If I noticed, others did too they're just waiting.”

 

“For what?” Mark asks, genuinely curious and unsure what he's expecting as the answer.

 

Taeyong knows what the kids are waiting for. Him. They want to make sure that Taeyong also doesn't care for the kid, and that they can freely make fun of him without crossing Taeyong. So far, he knows he's been sending mixed signals to his class regarding Mark, but letting Mark sit in his seat for a while now was leaning towards him approving of Mark.

 

“The perfect opportunity, I guess. Something to use as an excuse to make fun of you.”

 

“I see,” Mark nods like that answer was somehow reassuring. Then again, Taeyong notices that Mark fills his notebooks with notes by subject and color and professor. He was always on time, early in fact, his uniform was perfect, hair was a natural color, no heavy makeup or accessories. When he raised his hand it was to actually answer the question, not poke fun at the teacher or make a joke. That was why the teachers absolutely loved him. Some even went as far as to directly ask him to sit in front, although he refused. Mark was the type who didn't like spotlight, but most importantly he was a child who lived righteously. He probably didn't have a single bad bone in his body, which was why he wasn't too bothered by the statement. Mark was confident he wouldn't do anything to piss off others, or something that would be a problem.

 

He underestimated the kids at the academy though. Making someone a criminal was easy. All it took was an awkwardly timed photo, a false witness to a made up scenario, or a confident slanderer. Even if Mark was innocent, the kids wouldn't paint it that way if they had a choice. The best for him was to really stay out of everyone's vision. But that was impossible because he was so… adorable(?!)

 

Taeyong reaches over and wipes the mayo smeared on the corner of Mark’s mouth. “Umnk yew!” Mark quickly responds with his mouth full, a hand hovering over his face to make sure no pieces of meat or lettuce escape. His cheeks are puffed, eyes rounded and blinking innocently, Taeyong almost wonders if he's doing it on purpose. Mark's a pro seducer, whether he meant to be or not.

 

“Yeah…” Taeyong’s sentence falls short when a ominous shadow hovers over their small table. The two men in impeccably perfect suits look wholly out of place in the small diner. Out of instinct Taeyong knows they need something and it wasn't going to be pretty. Mark swallows thickly like he too can feel it. Taeyong sighs, feeling like trash. Fear wasn't supposed to be what Mark was feeling, this wasn't Mark’s world. Taeyong certainly didn't want to drag him into this mess now. Instinctively, Taeyong reaches under the table and grabs Mark’s hand making the other look up at him in surprise.

 

“You'll have to come with us,” the men look down but Taeyong can't even see their eyes under the dark, almost pitch black, sunglasses.

 

“In your dreams,” he swiftly grabs the tray of food and tosses it at their faces before pulling Mark to his side, “we have to run!”

 

Mark nods determined, like he was in agreement with the brilliant plan. Taeyong, despite the crazy situation and the people screaming in shock, finds Mark and his lil head shake of approval so damn cute. Taeyong tells himself he must seriously be crazy to think of that of all the things in such a situation, but he guesses it can't be helped.

 

Surprisingly Mark must not just be a book bug because he can keep up with Taeyong really well. In fact, not only does he have the smarts and the athletic ability, he's also an ace problem solver apparently. While running through the back allies Mark doesn't forget to tip over crates and trash cans to throw off the pursuers. Taeyong kinda laughs at that because he himself didn't think to do it, and here was this day 1 runner who'd probably never been followed by anyone in his nice life who knew what to do perfectly. Mark laughs because Taeyong’s laughing. Also this situation was just, thrilling. He scares himself sometimes with what he allows Taeyong to get away with, and most importantly what he allows Taeyong to get away with while he was in tow.

 

The car came out of nowhere. The hand that was clutching his let go and Taeyong thinks his heart might stop for a second, but a sharp pain in his side tells him someone hit him and takes his mind off of the person he was holding onto. Mark. Amazingly, Mark had somehow slid on the hood without a scratch and managed to kick Taeyong out of the way preventing his legs from being broken by the bumper. “Wha--” Taeyong is about to ask confused, but Mark remains calm and shakes his head, this time being the first to grab Taeyong’s hand. “Run now, talk later.”

 

Taeyong had never been a follower before, but seeing Mark’s serious side as he drags him through elaborate back allies is an interesting view change. He’s not just cute. He has a sharp jawline, windswept hair, and sharp eyes that concentrate on the things that demand his attention. Those eyes. They almost reminded Taeyong of his own and he shivers because that's never something he wants Mark to be. Nor does he want Mark to see the things he has to see. As if feeling Taeyong’s uneasiness and doubt, Mark turns and flashes him a smile, “Gotta be street smart, ya know?”

 

Mark takes a sharp turn and finally squeezes into a tiny strip surrounded by brick wall on the sides and overhead by dirty laundry. His back to a wall,Mark finally lets out huffs of breath and closes his eyes while gasping. Taeyong himself is also pretty winded so he takes a moment to return to normal respiratory patterns. They're almost chest to chest, it's not the best time to drop the suggestion but something about Mark’s inviting and tired and breathless smile makes Taeyong spit it out without even planning it.

 

“Let's be friends.”

 

Mark’s eyes widen. He didn't know if taking the offer would be betraying his current friends. It seemed that Johnny and Jisung didn't think too highly of Taeyong. He didn't really know about Haechan’s opinion but it couldn't have been too different from the rest of the group. But also, most important. Taeyong wanted to be friends with Mark Lee. Mark wonders if this request would stay the same if Taeyong met Lee Minhyung. Their proximity, the way the air between them was mingling, the whispers that were shared in this tight space. Mark wonders if this all serves as a mask to confuse Taeyong into seeing a better, alternate version of himself. Because he's neither cool nor fresh nor nice.

  
  


_***Nearness is mask-like gimmick*** _

  
  


“Can I think about it?” Mark knows this isn't a chance that is offered to everyone, and it's probably never been turned down before either. Mark gauges Taeyong’s reaction. With a serious face Taeyong slams his hand on the wall behind Mark, trapping him. Taeyong is so close Mark can smell his probably-very-expensive cologne. His breath hitches when Taeyong raises his other hand close to Mark’s face. Smirking, Taeyong pinches his cheek, “Sure. Come find me whenever you have your answer. I'll wait.”

 

It was unheard of, but there were always exceptions. _‘Doyoung better be thankful that I answered his request_ ,’ Taeyong muses to himself. He clearly wanted to say it was Doyoung’s idea,yet he was the one with the bright pink cheeks and a disappointed pout. And he was the one hoping Mark would eventually say yes.

 

 


	5. Strawberry Candy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~ Sorry this chapter was so short compared to the others.
> 
> I was still on vacation when I quickly wrote this on my phone
> 
> I know it's dissapointing to see a shorter chapter, but I figured a short update is better than none?
> 
> I hope to be back soon!
> 
> Thank you all so much for the comments, and even if I haven't been able to comment on all of them I've seen them all!
> 
> Have a nice day / night everyone!

Marks is honestly wondering how he was going to explain his random absence that afternoon to his roommate; quite a literal roommate too considering they shared a singular room together. He was late, and knowing the young one’s personality Mark could already see that Jisung would he pacing, worried. Possibly even slightly aggravated. Although it wasn’t like Mark had a curfew, he thought it was basic manners to tell his whereabouts to someone who could be waiting for him.

  
  
Granted, in Mark’s feeble defense, it didn’t feel like he was gone long despite everything that went down, but maybe that was because Taeyong was with him. It seemed that eventful occurrences and a general ignorance to the passage of time was expected when with the redhead because he seemed wholly unmoved when Mark pointed out that they had been outrunning people and un-losing themselves in Seoul for a while. Taeyong shrugs with his hands deep in his pockets claiming his driver always took him around so he didn’t memorize roads. Plus, his argument is pretty clear, all the roads, alleys, backstreets, look the same.

 

  
“You’re a brat,” Mark huffs, “could you at least pretend like you want to urgently find your way home?” Again. Taeyong doesn’t even lift an eyebrow as he tells Mark he’ll just call his driver to find him instead of the other way around. “Then why are you still here?”

 

  
“If I leave,” Taeyong remarks while smoothly putting his arm over Mark’s shoulders, “who would protect you, kid?”

 

 

“You’re only a few months older than me,” Mark points making a face that looked keenly close to disgusted, “and I can protect myself, I’m a strong and independent guy.” With that finale statement Mark pulls himself out of Taeyong’s hold and marches on, leading the way with a determined huff. Taeyong chuckles to himself silently before following. In actuality he already saw today that Mark was more than capable of protecting himself (or at the least fleeing from danger in one whole piece). Taeyong had merely thought about how to stay with Mark a little longer, and the best idea that came to mind and seemed logical enough was to tell Mark that he didn’t know the way to Mark’s neighborhood. It was a flat out lie, and despite all the bad he’s done for his corporate life, Taeyong tried to make up for it by being honest. Of course, that frank mouth of his that didn’t hold back was what got him in trouble too. This time though, just once, Taeyong thinks that white lies aren’t too bad. He wasn’t hurting anyone, and it was kinda funny to see that even when he was clearly annoyed, Mark was really kind and even slightly sorry for his almost nonexistent ‘temper’ (if one could even call it that).

***

  
The sun had already set when Mark found his way to the front of Jisung’s humble quarters. Taeyong looked at it thoughtfully, not a look of disgust or judgement but a real thoughtful look, as if he were observing and possibly even respectful of the conditions Mark had to endure. That one look made Mark’s heart beat more than it already had been (if that was even medically possible). Mark knew of so many privileged people who pinched their noses and wrinkled their faces when passing by the ‘slums’ without even knowing about the people who lived their. The people who had to endure colder winters and hotter, sweltering summers. Mark felt for those people, he really did. Not just because he was personally involved, per say, but because he believed in common empathy amongst humans. In the end, no human was above or more of a life than another, and they were all headed to the same place. As morbid as it sounded, the kids with all their cars and riches ended up six feet below just like the kids who played with beaten old soccer balls in the padded dirt.

 

“I’ll go in... you can call your driver now right?” Mark asks, worried that maybe his driver had fallen asleep already. Taeyong laughs, “yeah, don’t worry about me. Goodnight.”

 

“Yeah… Bye” Mark waits until Taeyong’s silhouette melts into the dark. He didn’t know what he was expecting, exactly, but he’s sad the day was over just like that.  
  


 

Meanwhile Taeyong sighs and wants to beat his head against the brick walls lining the street. “That was such a stupid thing to say, ughhhh ‘ _goodnight_?! What if he’s not going to sleep? But what should I have said... ‘have a nice night?’ Ughhh!” Taeyong takes out his phone and somewhat angrily punches in a text for his driver to come pick him up. While waiting he realizes everything he said today would go on the list of top-10-things-not-to-say on the first date. If it even counted as a ‘date’ at all. Did Mark think it was a date? Because if not then Taeyong was just being stupider than he already felt. By the time the car pulls up next to him, really an eyesore against the rundown neighborhood, Taeyong has convinced himself (amazingly) that Mark couldn’t have thought it was TOO bad. Although, he wasn’t that confident in his own reasoning, he was pretty sure Mark had a good time, and also possibly hoping for another outing.

 

* * *

  
  
“Where were you Mark hyung?”  
  


 

Sure enough, even when he closed the door slowly and tried to sneak in Jisung was right smack dab in the middle of the room, almost giving Mark a heart attack if he was being frank. The thought of lying did cross Mark’s mind for a second, but it couldn’t last long. Mark couldn’t keep lying to Jisung, so despite all the internal sensors screaming at him not to do it, Mark tells the full truth.  
  


 

“I can’t believe you were put in danger because of Taeyong! Do you really have to think about it at all? Just say no and that you can’t be friends!”  
  


 

It certainly seemed like the most logical thing to do, yet Mark hesitated. Jisung noticed too. He was attentive, that one. Jisung slaps his palm against his forehead and sighs deeply, “You actually _**like**_ him, don’t you?”  
  


 

Mark learned that a strong denial was in fact the most obvious confirmation so he shrugs slightly and tilts his head to the side, “A little, maybe?” Mark quickly looks around the small standing wardrobe for his black jacket and plain, logo-less baseball cap. For one, he wanted to avoid an awkward stand off with Jisung, and second, he wasn’t really sure about what his current standing with Taeyong was; if it was just curiosity or really a strong positive feeling. Mark was really bad with commitment (not that he had a lover in the past or anything) but based on the fact that he switches around his favorite candy every other day he could tell his own weakness was really 100% affirming something.

 

 

They say love is different, it’s not as simple as picking a flavor to enjoy for 30 seconds before it melts away. Love is a choice, it’s a responsibility, and it comes with ups and downs. At the same time, because love was a paradox, it was about feeling, going with the flow, a spontaneous burst in the pit of one’s stomach that made them feel like they could conquer the world. Or so they say. Mark had only learned about love through books and english literature classes. Mark didn’t know if he was ready for all of that on top of everything else he had to worry about in this world. Then again, Mark had never ever fallen in love before either, for real, anyway. Therefore, he couldn’t say what his feelings for Taeyong were. They didn’t really feel like love. But was a ‘yet’ to be added to that sentence? He didn’t know, nor was Mark really ready to find out. He was a pretty busy guy.

 

 

“Where are you going? Are you trying to avoid my questions?” Jisung asks, a hint of frustration overtaking his voice.

 

 

Mark gives the younger a half smile before shrugging, “Maybe.” Again, he was overly truthful, he opted to tell the half truth instead of a full lie. “I have work.”

 

 

“A part time job?”

 

 

He smiles, “Ehh, you can call it that. It’d be nice if you had a phone, right? This hyung’s working hard for it.” Mark leaves before Jisung can protest or even claim that he doesn’t need one. It was ridiculous for a high school student to not have some form of communication. Besides, Mark doesn’t really want to worry him again so getting him a phone wasn’t a bad investment.

 

* * *

 

“You’re really so screwed if Taeyong found out this was what you do,” Doyoung points out, making sure his men stayed far enough behind him so they couldn’t hear a word. When he means ‘screwed’ he actually definitely means 100% fucked. Taeyong, from what Doyoung could tell from being beside him for 10 years, was a pretty cruel guy when he wished to be. Especially when he was tested.

 

 

Mark shrugs, “You do it. He does it. Why not me?”

 

 

“Why do you hide anyway?” Doyoung asks, quickly changing the topic. Mark’s current busy work was something Doyoung didn’t particularly want to meddle with. It was dirty work. Some may say a ‘common guy’s work.’  Also, he was genuinely curious as to what Mark even had to hide. He was the nicest, sweetest, most innocent person attending SM Academy. Well, from what Doyoung could remember. Even his family was super sweet, so much so that Doyoung felt more welcome with them than he did with his own hardass father and fake stepmother. But maybe that was all a fruitless reminiscence of the past.

 

 

“You really have no idea, don’t you?” Mark asks, his facial expression not changing in the slightest as he concentrates. Doyoung, finally frustrated because things weren’t working out, reaches over and takes the tool from Mark’s clumsy hands, fixing the position of the object and clicking it into place. “Here.”

 

 

“Thanks,” Mark answers, not even remotely impressed at Doyoung, just slightly frustrated at himself. “I could have done it myself you know.”

 

 

“Sure,” Doyoung answers, humoring the younger and ruffling his hair. “Now enlighten me.”

 

 

“It’s a long story,” Mark answers, “Maybe I’ll tell you later. Just know that I have to be a scholarship student at SM, and you promised me to keep a secret.”

 

 

“Humm.” Doyoung hums, standing alongside Mark, “Maybe if I get another kiss?”

 

 

“In your dreams,” Mark coos while patting Doyoung’s plump cheeks, a cocky, crooked, half hearted smile over his lips.

 

 

Kim Doyoung was _**the**_ Kim Doyoung though, so of course he grabs Mark’s neck and rushes forward before Mark could even think to move. Doyoung’s lips envelop Mark’s for a split second before he backs up with a grin, his tongue coming out to lick the sheen cover of saliva away. Mark tastes strangely like strawberry sweets. Like the hard candy that was for fifty cents at a little side store. Somehow, although a strange and unfamiliar taste to Doyoung, it seemed fitting with the person. Doyoung still hasn’t let go of his neck, he realizes, so he tries to go in again when Mark makes a face. Stopping, because believe it or not Doyoung had his own romantic expectations about kisses, and a tranquil, smiling Mark was involved, Doyoung controls himself. He blows a playful breath into Mark’s waiting face and laughs,“I love it when my Mark is sassy.”

 

 

Mark breaks out of the hold with a bright red blush staining his face, “Shut it! And I’m not _**your**_ Mark!”

 

 

Doyoung breaths out a low chuckle before letting Mark go, and Mark practically scrambles to leave with his wits. _‘This guy, seriously. You might not realize it, but you are my Mark.’_ Since he’s so adorable today though, Doyoung will let him leave easy. Next time however, Doyoung’s thumb runs over his lips and he almost (almost) moans at the thought of what he could do if Mark would just --”Boss. We have to leave, now.” Doyoung almost feels the need to literally silence the underling who interrupted his very vivid, very wonderful daydream. “Let’s go.” But, since it wasn’t like he wasn’t ever going to see Mark again, and since there was a next time, Doyoung just reminds himself that when the time came, Mark wasn’t getting by with just a kiss.


	6. Leak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the late updates ㅠㅠ I thought I'd get adjusted to my first year of college quickly, but I think I was only fooling myself. There's a lot to juggle, and I'm just very stressed about this, but I still want to keep updating! Sorry for the irregular times, hopefully I can keep coming back sooner and sooner! I hope readers will enjoy this chapter though! Thank you for waiting!
> 
> Also: TRIGGER WARNING: Blood and violence

****TRIGGER WARNING: VIOLENCE & BLOOD**

 

* * *

 

Taeyong opens his eyes to the ushering of a familiar voice. His one and only brother. Taemin has him pinned on the bed and is smiling in triumph because Taeyong has finally woken from his deep sleep. “Can’t get lazy, brother dear!” Taemin coos affectionately, quivering with excitement. Taeyong smiles uncomfortably and swats at Taemin in order to get him off, he would like to breathe comfortably. But, Taeyong notices that even without his older brother on his chest, it’s hard to take a comfortable breath. It’s because Taeyong knows what business they’re about to conduct, but he’s not too keen in doing it.

 

There used to be a time though, when the picture was switched. When Taeyong would get up even before the first birds screeched at his window, when he would run quickly to the adjacent room and hop onto the bed, when Taemin would have to talk to him like a grown up calming a child on christmas morning. There was a time, way back, when Taeyong was the one who was excited to kill.

 

Now, he’s not so sure. He doesn’t want to disappoint his brother, and he know he won’t, but there’s no thrill in the job anymore. Taeyong believed that it would get easier the more he did it, just like Taemin had promised. Just like it had been for his brother. However, the more he did it the more he realized the unfortunate circumstances of some of the people he had to hunt down like a dog. Ever since Minsu, everything had changed. Taeyong’s eagerness to prove himself to his family, a task that had at one time dictated his whole life, seemed so meaningless. All he could do when he stared at a mirror was talk to a monster.

 

Could he really change though? Taemin’s already up and expecting Taeyong to jump right out of bed. He looks down curiously when Taeyong doesn’t make a move. In fact, he makes no indication that he'd like to follow Taemin. The silent stare-off continues until Taeyong relents.

 

“I’ll get ready.”

 

The slightly hardened look quickly melts away from Taemin’s face as he grins, “That’s ma boy.”

 

Taeyong just grunts in response as he pulls his heavy lead-like legs over the side of his bed. Taeyong guesses the answer is no. He can’t change himself, any more traumatic experiences can’t change him, nothing can put him back to what he used to be. Ignorant. He’ll never be ignorant or oblivious or stupid again, which makes it worse. He’ll be a conscious monster without a conscience. The irony strikes him and makes him laugh before he can even think to lament his loss of humanity.

 

Right as Taeyong was trying to come up with something, anything, to distract his thoughts, a familiar tune makes him jump. It’s Doyoung calling. Nobody told him it was a joint operation today.

 

“What.”

 

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Doyoung smirks as he glances out the window of his moving car. The driver quickly shuts the glass separating them and Doyoung nods in approval. His men trained the new guy well.

 

“Shut up,” Taeyong sighs, “what do you need?”

 

“I came all the way here to pick you up, and this is how you thank me? With a grumpy attitude?”

 

Taeyong grabs his brown jacket and shrugs, fully aware that Doyoung can’t see him, but also knowing his best friend could probably predict his body language despite everything. And he was correct.

 

“Don’t just shrug, get in the car.”

 

“Okay okay! Chill, I’ll be down in a second.”

 

“I want strawberry jam on my toast.”

 

Taeyong stops because a shiver runs down his back. Sometimes, even though he should be used to it by now, Doyoung’s all knowing words scare him. Taeyong figures Doyoung was just really attentive to detail (that’s what made him a perfect worker in their field), but it was still creepy. Especially when Taeyong was doing something far away and Doyoung could sense it with so much accuracy Taeyong felt like he was being watched on a security feed. The two of them really were opposites. While Taeyong didn’t give a damn about anything, he didn’t even memorize important names in their socio-economic circle, Doyoung knew and remembered everything. Even down to how every single person at a meeting took their coffee in the morning and their alcohol at night. Taemin called the two a dream team. Taeyong acknowledged it, and at times like this even he was amazed at how Doyoung matched with him. Or, to be more accurate, matched _**for**_ him.

 

“I’m making my own breakfast, I’m not your cook too.” Taeyong scowls, even though he’s already putting a second pair of toast in the toaster and scouring the fridge for the right type of jam.

 

“I know you’ll bring mine too,” Doyoung responds with maximum confidence. Taeyong squeezes his eyes shut. Such a brat. “Does it take a million years to toast bread?”

 

“Shut up or you’re not getting your banana milk you fuckin brat,” Taeyong responds, all with love of course. He can hear Doyoung’s chuckle and it makes him naturally smile. Well, at least there was one person in this world that Taeyong knew what their preference in the morning was. Sure, Taeyong didn’t give a damn about ‘everyone else,’ but he cared about his people and Doyoung was number one that list. He wasn't just anybody. He was Taeyong’s best friend, and if there could be a platonic soulmate it would be him, the guy that was pestering him for breakfast while sitting in a nice car outside. The guy named Kim Doyoung.

 

* * *

 

Doyoung hangs up and quickly calls the number he already memorized. If he could take a wild guess Doyoung would say he had approximately 4 minutes before Taeyong was coming down the stairs and into his car. “Come on… come on pick up!”

 

“Hello?” The voice asks in a hushed whisper. They’re grunting, and Doyoung can hear a few soft thuds, as if the person were hopping around trying to put on a sock. He can just imagine them; messy bed hair, half closed eyes, trying to get fully dressed to leave while their phone is propped against their shoulder and ear, listening to him.

 

“Don’t show up today,” Doyoung commands, his wide eyes on the lookout for Taeyong. He signals frantically for his driver to lock the doors just in case Taeyong decides he’ll try to be funny and try to sneak into the car. The reassuring ‘click’ makes Doyoung relax, but only by a fraction.

 

“What are you talking about? This is--”

 

“This is Taeyong’s territory. I just found out that it’s his deal this morning. He knows about the problem. You don’t want to run into him here when you have to see him often, right?”

 

The other side stays silent. Doyoung can practically see the internal struggle on the other party’s face, he can imagine it with his sharp mind. The eyebrows coming together, the pursed lips. Doyoung holds his breath waiting for a confirmation answer. “Yeah. I’ll stay home. Thanks for the heads up.”

 

Doyoung lets out a breath of relief, “Thank you.”

 

“For what?” The staticky voice asks. Doyoung can hear them falling back onto a springy bed. Someone besides them turns and mutters softly. He can hear his friend smile at that. Doyoung can hear that curved lip just from the way the other breathed through the phone.

 

“For listening to me. For staying safe.”

 

“That’s a funny thing to be thankful for.”

 

Doyoung knows that too. He wishes he can tell them that if they were to get hurt in anyway, physically or mentally, at this meeting Doyoung would never forgive himself. Therefore, he was unimaginably thankful that they were going to listen. It might have been selfish, it might have been for his own heart to be relaxed. His silence finally prompts the other side to speak up, “Anyway, good luck today then.”

 

“Yeah,” Doyoung doesn’t even hear a bye before they both hang up. The other because he has nothing left to say, and Doyoung because Taeyong is running down the steps towards them. “Unlock the doors.”

 

Taeyong’s hand reaches for the handle as the click tells them the car opens. “Thanks for picking me up.”

 

Doyoung flashes him a half hearted smile, “Of course. No problem.”

 

* * *

 

Mark was an early riser. It came with his style of life. There was always work at the worst possible times, but it paid very well. Obviously. People like him had to take time out of their precious days to work, and they didn’t get the holidays either. All red dates on the calendars meant nothing to him.

 

“Just a few more hours of this hell and then I go to serve coffee to cranky workers,” Mark doesn’t know if he’s trying to reassure himself or making himself more depressed at his life right now.

 

The people talk quietly, which Mark would respect if he were in a library, but he’s not. When all Mark could do was listen to their conversation for entertainment on his boring job, he wished for once they were louder. Anyway, Mark supposes he’s not really paid to eavesdrop, so he puts his upset thoughts behind him and concentrates. He looks down at the screen, checks the quality, and nods. Not to seem full of himself, but Mark admits he’s pretty good at this job despite it being his first time trying it. Usually his role would be calling the shots. A manager of sorts. The demotion was kinda fun though, and a new way to gain experience for the future. He gets a text as he’s leaving for his next part time job.

 

“Did you get them Mr. Lee?”

 

Mark rolls his eyes, he’s pretty sure he told them to just call him Mark, but he guesses old habits are hard to change.

 

“Yes’sir! Worried I couldn’t do it?”

 

“No! Of course not Mr. Lee. We believe in you wholeheartedly.”

 

Mark scoffs and shoves the phone into his pocket. Not even his father believed him wholeheartedly and some guy he wasn’t remotely related to was supposed to trust him like a family? That was hard to believe, but not something Mark couldn’t understand. After all, he’d always hear people trying to suck up to him, but it was all because they expected to use him later. He knew that, and that’s why he hated compliments, more than anything.

 

As hypocritical as it was though, Mark finds he gives them quite a lot. As he’s putting on the brown apron at his next job, he smiles at his boss and tell her the cake display she put up looks fabulous. It looks like a mess, as if a bomb of colors exploded in the glass case. Maybe he’s just like everyone else, just trying to get by as easily as possible. Making the right people happy meant more returned favors, a lot of coincidental nice things happening, a lot of closed eyes and turned faces. In his case, Mark needed a lot of schedule changes.

 

“I was wondering if I could get next Friday off?”

 

“Again? What do you have on Fridays? Maybe we should just take you off the roster for weekends then.” There was a clear and heavy threat in her voice. She knew he needed money, everybody in the damn world needed it to survive. Even the ones who had it constantly needed more of it.

 

Mark had already been fed up with her attitude. She was a perfectionist to the fault, so much so that even he had a hard time making her happy. If he did double the work sometimes though, he had expected getting a few days off to be easy. He shrugs at her superior attitude. The cafe was actually his weakest money maker and he wasn’t too concerned about the paycheck ending.

 

“Actually, It’s been real, but maybe I should move on. I know I’ve only been giving you a hard time.” Still, it was only like Mark to try and be civil to till the end. Although there were thousands of things he could blame on the owner, but he adverts it to himself. It was the best way to end a messy acquaintance with a lot of tension going through it.

 

“Is this how you were taught to give your two weeks notice?” She asks, flabbergasted because she’s never seen someone quit with such ease before. Usually they have a certain goal they want to reach, but Mark hasn’t made too much money serving on 2 days a week in the afternoons. It was a coffee shop, after all. Their prime hours were different than everywhere else. Nobody had just spontaneously decided to quit because she refused to reschedule. He must not have been poor enough!

 

“Actually. I want to quit today. I really need that Friday off.”

 

“You don’t need to quit. I’m firing you!”

 

Mark looks at her, and then turns his attention to the display. Pointing at it he speaks up, “it looks like your annoying little daughter threw up in there. Change it.” Might as well be honest with her if he wasn’t going to be having to beg her for days off. She opens her mouth, clearly offended and at a loss for what to do with her employee, now ex-employee’s, sudden change in mannerism. He smirks at her, and points to himself, “what? At a loss for words because I’m being honest for once? Get used to it, the world is a brutally critical place.”

 

Mark leaves without looking back. When he steps out of the shop front is already bustling with people scanning in their IDs. It was a coffee shop that was strategically placed inside a office building, one of the biggest corporate bodies in the world. CG-MFAL. Hundreds of employees visited the shop everyday. Because he worked within it, he could have proudly said he was employed at CG-MFAL headquarters in Seoul, but now even that was over. “Ahh well. What’s so amazing about this company anyway?” He muttered as he walks out, kicking his feet on the hard marbled and glistening floors. A janitor angrily tells him to stop leaving sneaker scratches on his perfectly cleaned tiles. Mark awkwardly bows to them and says sorry, multiple times. Employees at the front desks, secretaries walking past, even other janitors give him sideways glances as they cover their mouths and laugh. Apparently it was funny to watch a kid get harassed. “That’s why he should know his place… it’s not a playground in here.” Mark hears the words, but he decides not to comment on them. They are for him to hear anyway. It was sad how even the lowest in the chain thought they were better than the world because they worked for such a huge company. Mark looks at the logo, one that was advertised as a promise to the regular people, but underneath the pillars of wavy air was a dry well and no dreams to be found anywhere for people like him.

 

* * *

 

“There’s been a leak,” Taeyong weighs the wrench in his hand and nods with approval. A comfortable weight. Not too heavy for him to lift, not too light so that it wouldn’t be effective.

 

“Oh? There has?” Doyoung asks, amused. He’s rested on the leather sofa, feet kicked up on the table. Of course he knows there’s been a leak it was him and Jaehyun who had figured it out in the first place and tracked the IP. They’re the ones who looked through hours of mundane camera footage until they found the problem.

 

Taemin had left. Said there was even more important business, but what it could be Doyoung had no clue. The sound of helpless muffles distract Doyoung from trying to think of Taemin’s where abouts. He’s more focused on his friend.

 

Despite Taeyong’s calm aura, Doyoung knows he doesn’t like this. Not anymore. Truthfully, Doyoung was immune to it, but even he admits it’s not all fun and games like it was in middle school. They know too much now. Maybe taking philosophy and economics and a humanitarian class wasn’t the best choice, but nonetheless the world isn’t all black and white. It isn’t just them and us, it isn’t just their mistakes and us fixing problems. It was circumstances, chance, luck, it was everything that somehow brought the two worlds together. The poor who were on the floor, and the rich who put them there. The world was more like a dirty grey, like film and dust that’s carefully coating an old photo album.

 

Unlike Taemin who still enjoyed the dirty work, Taeyong learned to hate it. There were more days than not where he would shake and cry in the shower, calling out for Doyoung. Doyoung would always be by the door, sitting there, and reassuring him that they’re both together, alive. When all the red would wash down, Taeyong would come out and all but collapse into Doyoung’s arms. “You did what you had to.” That was what Doyoung always said, and all that he said. No more was necessary, and no more would have been more helpful.

 

“I guess I have to fix it, huh?” Taeyong asks, sadly. He looks at the man for a split second before moving his gaze to the ground. He finds it harder to do it when he makes eye contact because their eyes are always begging. For another chance. Another few days, few weeks, few months. When really, it’s only a few minutes.

 

“Who’d you give it to?” Taeyong grunts as the wrench comes soaring down in the air and hits the man in the shoulder. There’s the sickening sound of a crunch and he screams into the towel that’s in his mouth. Doyoung gets up and pulls out the fabric, giving the man a merciful chance to speak.

 

“I-I don’t…”

 

“Nope--” Taeyong cuts him off and brings the wrench sailing over, aiming at the elbow.

 

“A CORPORATE GROUP!!” The man yells. He was easier to break than others. Taeyong had sat in a 16 hour interrogation before just to get a number, this man was just a desk secretary.

 

“All the company secrets, to another corporate group? Not the news? Bloggers? I don’t believe you, Mr. Suh.” Taeyong stands again, ready to swing the metal tool when the man starts wailing, crying out of his eyes, nose, and mouth.

 

“I…” sobs break up his every other word, “swear! Just CG-MFAL! He was some… high level manager there…”

 

Jaehyun freezes. Leaning over he whispers something to Doyoung and the elder nods. “Taeyong, I got this.”

 

Taeyong looks confused, “I’ve heard of that group. Why have I heard of them?”

 

Jaehyun grabs Taeyong’s arm and softly pulls the wrench out of his tight grip. “Only because they’re one of the biggest companies in North America and the Seoul area. They haven’t been too focused on Korea until this year.”

 

Taeyong looks at Jaehyun and nods, he does remember them being mentioned during a boring business meeting that he never listens to anyway.

 

“Taeyong, they’re your biggest rival. He just sold your information to him. I’ll take care of him.” Doyoung’s anger flairs the more he thinks about it. So, he chooses not to think. Jaehyun hands him the weapon and backs away knowing what’s good for him. Taeyong shivers. He’s seen Doyoung when he was aggravated, when he was betrayed, when he was angered. But, when someone touched one of Doyoung’s friend it was beyond imagination. The receiving end of Doyoung’s wrath should have wished never to be born from the womb; it would be better for them. "You should leave," Doyoung warns. The warehouse doors open and Jaehyun almost literally drags Taeyong out. Even as he's leaving the redhead takes worried glances at his best friend who only flashes a smile and waves. The doors close again, hiding his friend, and Doyoung turns. The smile is whipped away from his face. "Let's talk."

 

* * *

 

Doyoung swings the wrench, again and again. At one point he gets annoyed at the constant screaming and opens the guy’s bloody mouth to stuff in the white towel he had. Momentum from the previous swing seems to fuel the next one to come down harder.

 

“Now, just tell me who exactly took your intel.”

 

By this time, the man is holding onto the hopeless dream that he’ll at least walk away with his life even if he can’t use half of his body for the rest of the days he’s on Earth. Doyoung hears the name and a big fear is confirmed.

 

“You gave it to him directly?”

 

The man’s already lost focus in his eyes, the bleeding is too much to stop and he needs an ambulance right away. It’s like the silence confirms that he’s not going to get one though. Doyoung doesn’t know what to do, but looking at the guy on the floor he knows his loyalty is with Lee Taeyong despite the fast beating of his heart and his quivering fingers.

 

“Do we still raise dogs?” Doyoung asks, and one of his men nods. Affirmative. “I hope you’ve been taking care of them.”

 

The man feebly squirms before the last slip of consciousness leaks through his fingers, just like his remaining spirit will. “Of course, Sir.”

 

“I think it’s time we feed them, don’t you?”

 

The men don’t change their facial expression as they usher the unconscious body onto a stretcher and nod. “Understood, Sir.”

 

Doyoung turns to the man remaining, his personal secretary. “I need to make a meeting with him. I need to know why he has intel on Taeyong’s company.”

 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, sir? If Young Master Taeyong finds out--”

 

“I’ll handle that,” Doyoung cuts his secretary off and throws him a handkerchief in frustration. The blood stains on his cloths won’t be coming off anytime soon, but he hopes his hands won’t smell red.

 

“Of course sir. The meeting is set for tomorrow.”

 

Doyoung nods as he approaches Taeyong, putting on a warm smile. “I took care of everything. Don’t worry.”

 

“I’m not,” Taeyong responds. But Doyoung is.

* * *

**Sorry if my writing quality has been kinda bad lately, who knew school was so tiring?**

**Thank you for bookmarking, for the kudos, and for commenting!**

**Hopefully I can start uploading much more and my writing will be more detailed + make more sense**


	7. Friends of the past

 

Mark shakes the box a little before handing it over towards Jisung. “Hum?” Jisung puts down his spoon to look at the white box, a picture of the latest Samsung phone displayed on the front. Mark didn’t have time to gift wrap it. “What is this?” Jisung asks in awe, cleaning the sides of his mouth and making sure no saliva is falling.

 

“It’s your new phone,” Mark replies, matter-of-factly as he continues eating. The dinner was simple. Kimchi, some rice, and a seasoned fish. Something small Mark had picked up at the night market on his way back from work. He had used some bartering secrets that Jisung taught him the last time they went together. Mark learned that day that if one uses the right tone of voice and the right smile, read: aegyo, the ladies were willing to give a pretty good deal. They all liked Jisung, and thus as a result also Mark, a lot.

 

“For me?” Jisung asks. He looks at the food, his usual meal would have been missing the ‘main dish.’ Mark had provided so much for him as a roommate he almost felt sorry for accepting. Not only where they just friends living together, it was almost as if Mark had made it his duty to take care of Jisung like a mother would a son.

 

“I worked a few extra jobs, no biggie. I just added you to my existing plan.”

 

The way Mark says it, Jisung can tell he doesn’t want to keep going into detail about how exactly he got the money to buy such a thing. The younger could only imagine what Mark went through to get it. Hot nights grilling meat for others while ignoring his own hunger, helping drunk men to their taxi cabs, cleaning and scrubbing dirty plates. He’s all too familiar with it himself and would cringe at the thought of taking extra time to make a bonus. “Thank you so much hyung,” Jisung wipes his eyes because he feels moisture building up, and opens the box. “I’ll use it well.”

 

Mark forces on a tired smile, his eyes dropping now that his stomach is somewhat full. “That’s good to hear.” His voice quickly dwindles to a whisper and he falls sideways, already on his bed. Jisung hurries to move the foldable table, and pulls a blanket over Mark. In his own way, he wishes he is somewhat helpful to Mark too.

 

* * *

 

Bright and early Mark walks into the building he’d rather not be seen in. The black baseball cap covers the half of his face a mask couldn’t. As if they were waiting for him a secretary bows and escorts him to a different side than what normal people would be lead to. The private elevators. “Fucking twerps using their money for useless extravagance,” Mark mutters as he gets into the glass cased golden elevators. He wonders just how many employees worked day in and day out for the company to make enough for their own pocket. The secretary looks uncomfortable with his trash talking, but what was she going to do about it? Tell her boss that he didn’t like their design plan?

 

“Mr. Lee is inside.”

 

“Yeah,” Mark mutters, unfortunatly he knew that because he had the unpleasant privilege of meeting with him to finish a job.

 

“Hello. Mark.” His voice is clipped, very professional, very boring.

 

The way the man says his name makes Mark want to spit an equally sickening hello back, but he knew who not to piss off in this country. “I have your pictures.”

 

Mark slaps them down on the table, and is about to walk out with his hands shoved deep into his pockets when he halts. His payment. He almost forgot.

 

“Don’t threaten me ever again.”

 

“I never did.” The voice is smooth. Controlled. It pisses Mark off to no end. How that psycho could just sit there in his nicely cleaned desk and pretend like he didn’t manipulate people in the cruelest ways. “You know I’m not that kind of person.”

 

“Do I?” Mark questions. Actually Mark knows the CEO is exactly that kind of person. Mark knows quite a lot about him. What he did to his ex-wife (now deceased), his new ultra rich and ultra unpopular new wife, where he lives, how many cars he has. Mark had a lot of time to observe. That’s why he also knows that the people who have enough money, are always thinking of ways to preserve themselves no matter what the hypothetical cost was.

 

“I’m trying to be a good person here, but you’re making it very hard for me and--”

 

“Let me just stop you right there,” Mark holds up his hand and Mr. Lee looks at him surprised. Mark smirks, he’s probably never had anybody tell him to shut up before. Mark knows people like him. Everybody nods at them and smiles and tells them what a brilliant and respectable person they were even if they were cursing up a storm on the inside. Did Mark blame the people for being fake? Maybe. Maybe what people like Mr. Lee needed was a wake up call; a reality check of sorts. Despite the man’s disturbed face, Mark continues on, “You can’t try to pretend to be something you’re not. I’ve overstayed my welcome. I’m going.”

 

“Mark. Come work for us. You’ll find no better opportunities than--”

 

The door slams shut despite Mr. Lee’s pleading voice in the background. Some would call him crazy. He knows that thousands upon thousands of people from all types of background invest years of their youth trying to build up specks to get into CG-MFAL. He’s reminded of the company’s big reach every day. On the news, in the economy section of the papers, online search engines, it seems there was always an excuse to mention the company’s name, even in passing. He just got a once-in-a-lifetime job offer from one of the richest most influential people on the peninsula.

 

He reaches the busier lobby and sounds bombard him from all round. The clacking of keyboard keys, the snapping sounds of high end heels on the white marble, annoying beeps from scanners stationed everywhere. Conversations ride the air and reach his attentive ears, but only one of them makes him scoff.

 

“There’s nothing our company doesn’t do…” the secretary introduces proudly to a crowd of nicely dressed men. Probably business investors looking for a meeting with the man Mark was just busy talking to and running away from.

 

Out of all the people in the building, Mark knew the best that what the secretary said was absolutely true. While she was probably referring to the business ventures, Mark was reminded of all the jobs he’d seen on the list. The hits, the magic of making money disappear and then reappear in a different bank (a different country even), the spies that integrate themselves into rival companies and all the backing that goes into making fake people, with fake IDs and fake homes and fake degrees. There really wasn’t a single thing CG-MFAL would be hesitant to take on if it was for money. That included threats. That included murder. And Mark couldn’t just sit by to let that happen. Not ever again.

 

* * *

 

Doyoung wishes he’s meeting them under a different circumstance, and not at his office, but there’s no other way.

 

“Seriously, I need to know why you took the intel about Taeyong’s company.”

 

“His father’s company, isn’t it?” The guy looks wholly uninterested in the conversation they’re having and more focused on the pizza Doyoung ordered for them. While on one hand Doyoung’s glad he remembers what they like and that one thing about them has stayed consistent, he’s pretty desperate to get some answers.

 

“It doesn’t matter who the CEO is, it has something to do with Taeyong.”

 

“Hum… the person with executive decision in a company always matters. Don’t worry, I like Taeyong and I won’t let anything happen to them.”

 

“You what?” Doyoung stops and puts down his food forgetting the original purpose of his meeting. Something else had caught his interest and it was a personal priority.

 

“I said I won’t let anything bad happen to him. I just needed the info to handle my personal curiosity. It’s nothing big and CG-MFAL’s madam is related to Taeyong in some complicated way, I doubt the two will go after each other.”

 

“No no,” Doyoung shakes his head and his hand follows, “before that. You like…”

 

“Yeah,” Mark nods, biting his pizza happily, “he’s cool! Cold, calculated, suave... I kinda wish I was like him sometimes because you know…”

 

Doyoung makes an innocent face like he doesn’t know anything. As if he’s telling Mark to enlighten him. Mark can tell Doyoung’s not going to fill in the blank for him, and that he’ll have to admit it himself.

 

“Ugh! You know, I’m kinda…”

 

“Cute?” Doyoung offers. He was being dead serious too.

 

“I was going to say awkward,” Mark pulls a face and Doyoung smiles, “but thanks.”

 

Impulsively, he can’t stop himself from reaching forward over the table to squish Mark’s cheek between his forefinger and thumb, “it’s a special compliment that I don’t give to anyone else! You should really be honored.”

 

“Ugh,” but this time Mark just goes with the flow. He got free pizza, so he supposes he could amuse Doyoung.

 

Doyoung rests his back onto his couch again and sighs, relieved after hearing Mark’s answer. He thought Mark had seriously developed a liking for his best friend, but it seemed it was at the level of natural admiration that people all seemed to have for Taeyong. They took a single transient look at him and thought he was this well put together, unfeeling, perfect demi-god. The more one stayed by Taeyong’s side though, the more they realized he was quite the opposite, and very likable in a different way. He had his worries, his demons, but he always thought about how to lead others and make them feel comfortable. Perhaps that’s why he put on a calm mask, to make sure others don’t feel his uneasiness. As Yuta put it nicely, Taeyong was the definition of tsundare it was understandable that people couldn’t help but like and look up to him. Just like he did.

 

“Young master Kim.” The secretary interrupts while Doyoung is in the middle of gazing at Mark eating his heart out, and Doyoung seriously wonders if he should just fire him because of that abominable sense of timing.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“It’s time for your afternoon meeting with Mr. Sicheng and Mr. Yukhei.”

 

“Ah… the cousins.”

 

Mark gets up and picks up the box of pizza too as if it’s a part of him, an absolute necessity. He’s still holding his dear slice but he gestures for Doyoung to go. “I can show myself out, Hyung.”

 

Doyoung smiles apologetically, “Sorry.”

 

“Ist fime--” Mark mutters while chewing on his crust. Before Doyoung exits, he turns one last time despite the secretary’s slightly frantic toe tapping, “next time, let’s meet and do something fun.”

 

“No business?” Mark asks while lifting his eyebrows, his hat moves slightly with the shift in his facial features. He can’t help but notice the luxurious burgundy suit and costly glasses perched on Doyoung’s sharp nose, plus his spotlessly polished shoes.

 

“No business,” Doyoung laughs, “just like old times.” The door closes and Mark waves his new triangular slice in the empty air, “Just like old times…” But while Doyoung always seemed like he was wishing to go back, Mark knew that nothing was the same anymore. It could never be like old times, even if Doyoung didn’t need to know that. “He really used to like her…” Mark muses while twiddling the ring attached to the link around his neck. Sometimes Mark was as desperate to go back, but those careless days in Canada ended long ago and he’s learned that hopeless dreams just make the memories hurt more than they have to.

 

* * *

 

Taeyong’s pretty sure all his friends are already on the rooftop when he hears the door open with much force. Immediately his eyebrows raise with worry. It was a bad habit that Doyoung always chided him about, but Taeyong always imagined the worst thing first. In this case he was thinking maybe a rival gang from some other school hand come to figure out business during lunch.

 

“Damn. Is that door jammed or something?”

 

Taeyong quickly turns and tries to prevent the tips of his lips from turning up. He looks at Mark, and he must have been pretty convincing because Mark freezes, shifting his weight forward and back and forward and back again.

 

“I uhh… left my hat,” he quickly shuffles over to Doyoung who magically produces a black baseball cap from his backpack. He smiles widely and runs his hand through Mark’s hair playfully, “forgetful huh?”

 

“Stop it,” Mark mutters while swatting at Doyoung’s intruding hand and grabbing his cap. He wishes he can run away from the silently staring sets of eyes, but he knows eventually he’ll have to answer why he really came all the way up to the roof despite it being a notoriously dangerous territory for the kids at school.

 

“And!” Mark cringes because his voice sounds a little too enthusiastic for his liking. He keeps reminding himself to keep it cool, play it artlessly. “HERE!” Mark shoves an envelope into Taeyong’s surprised hands that reflectively come up to take it.

 

“What… is this?” Taeyong asks, genuinely surprised by the ‘gift’ (if that was what it could be called).

 

“Movie tickets. I kinda felt bad that the dudes ruined the burgers, so like, to make up for it, you know? Unless you don’t like movies-- or you watched it already or--”

 

“Thanks,” Taeyong surprises himself with the bright answer, and his long-time friends raise an eyebrow at him. “There’s two?”

 

“Huhh? Oh! Ah, yes! Yeah. Yeah. Go with whoever you want. Movies are boring alone. Um. At least, for me…” Mark wishes he can just jump off the roof, or that the building will break in half and swallow him; awkward double answers, exclamations, red face, and all!

 

“Oh. Okay,” Taeyong nods.

 

Everybody collectively smirks. This clueless guy. Jaehyun snatches the envelope from Taeyong’s slightly shaking fingers despite Taeyong’s soft ‘hey!’

 

“Here!” Jaehyun hands Mark one of the tickets inside and smiles, “I’m sure our friend Taeyong here would love to take you as a token of appreciation, right?” On the inside he’s praising himself for being such a quick thinking and amazing friend. Taeyong owes him. He’s noticed that Taeyong would blank out a lot more often, and whereas he’d usually stare off into space during lessons, Jaehyun catches Taeyong staring in the direction of a certain new kid. A certain kid who was sitting in the redhead’s old seat, a certain kid with flat hair and dark framed glasses. A certain Mark Lee.

 

Taeyong is dumbstruck by his friend’s bold actions, but honestly quite pleased. Okay. He was very pleased. Beyond thankful. By contrast, Doyoung looks down at his shoes and kicks around awkwardly wondering why the world and even Jung Jaehyun was against him.

 

“I… I only go to movies with friends…” Mark lets his words eat themselves up and feels his palms become glossy with a thin cover of nervous sweat as the others who were sitting slowly stand, interested.

 

Taeyong’s eyes grow dimmer and the smile that had planted itself on his face when he hadn’t even noticed starts to fall. “Aren’t we…” He can’t bring himself to ask, just in case. Just in case Mark is brave enough and sure enough to say no. Because Taeyong doesn’t know if he can take rejection. He’s said that word so many times to so many girls before. Enough so that he thought it would be a familiar one to him. Yet, this feeling, waiting for Mark’s answer, is strange. Taeyong isn’t even sure if he’ll understand the word ‘no’ if Mark said it to him right then in korean. He suddenly had a lot of pity for the girls who had come and confessed to him.

 

Mark presses his lips together like he’s weighing his options, but Taeyong’s not even offended. He’s never been on the offering side before because his friendship didn’t come easily, but now he’s practically begging with his eyes. His dark eyebrows crunch in the center and perk up, his pupils dilate and focus on Mark’s face, waiting. He holds his breath, tight as it constricts his chest.

 

“Sure… I’m pretty sure you qualify as a friend,” Mark teases, smiling. The others look breathless like they’re wondering if Taeyong will take kindly to the jab.

 

While Taeyong smiles in releaf and quickly throws his arm over Mark’s shoulder, Doyoung crosses his arms and smiles brightly to himself. At least this way he they’re in the same group and he can keep Mark very close. All the others know they’ll have to accept him, so they break out into friendly smiles forgetting that they were putting on cold airs just moments before. Despite the dazzling sun and comfortable atmosphere that was beginning to surround the gang, someone else doesn’t look too thrilled at all.

 

“Well isn’t that sweet?”

 

Johnny looks like he’s out of breath while trying to hide it but Haechan is breathing hard, and wiping sweat. Jisung breaks through the entrance soon after, looking confused. Upon seeing Mark stuck right next to Taeyong with a smile fading from his face, Jisung’s mouth wavers like he’s wounded and holding back tears.

 

“And here we thought you needed to be saved,” Johnny’s voice drips with bitterness that seems to deeply sting Taeyong. If it was anybody else, Taeyong would bite right back. But it was Johnny. The tall, kind, patient, sweet, Johnny. The kid who used to share his small umbrella and let the rain fall on his shoulder while Taeyong skipped home dry, who used to play until he lost rock-paper-scissors knowing the penalty was having to carry Taeyong’s heavy bookbag, who used to at least attempt to home cook seaweed soup on birthdays because he knew Taeyong spent them alone. The kid who used to be his best friend. The kid Taeyong let down.

 

“No. Johnny, it’s not…” Taeyong starts, but his voice starts closing soon after and he hates himself for not being able to finish a single sentence before tears threaten to overtake him. He hates that he’s weak, and he hates that Johnny no longer even looks at him let alone comforts him. Most of all though, Taeyong hates the fact that he knows, this is all his fault.

 

“Whatever.” Johnny turns around, as if just looking at Taeyong drains energy from him. “Let’s not hang out today, Mark. I’m a little tired.” The three of them leave the roof, but not before Haechan turns one last time to shake his head sadly, and not before Mark misses Jisung’s disheartened frown.

 


	8. Elevator Music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Blood, violence, mentions of prostitution and death of a loved one

“Didn’t know you were in the drug business too.”

 

Doyoung looks up and groans. He really wishes he wasn’t seeing that face, not now and not here. “Really Mark? And what do you mean by ‘too’?”

 

Mark lifts one perfectly shaped dark eyebrow which was his way of silently asking if Doyoung really didn't know the answer to his own question. It seemed pretty clear that 'too' meant Mark was also a part of this drug business. Evidently. Which was why he was here tonight. Unlike during school Mark's lost the glasses and the flat hair. His dress code is casual, different from all the other players in the game. Nothing about him screamed rich drug boss, which meant he was likely just a goon. An in-between. Meanwhile, Doyoung had an impeccable suit that cost him thousands, although he didn’t think about it when purchasing. Mark had that ever present baseball cap and tight black jeans. A loose shirt made his attire comfortable and blendable with any surrounding. “You know South Korea,” Mark drawls, “Everybody who wants money is involved in one of the three branches. Drugs, trafficking, politics. Since politics is a headache with a hefty amount of lies, and trafficking is morally corrupt, hahahaha yeah laugh all you want, I obvioulsy in my clean conscience choose to take a part of the drug business. obviously.”

 

Doyoung shakes his head while laughing sarcastically, but can't help himself from agreeing on the inside. Contrary to popular belief it wasn’t the schools in the poor districts that were suffering from drug problems (or the real drug problem, anyway). SM Academy’s student body probably saw more drugs being traded in and out of their own buildings than any other 19 year olds in the country.

 

“You’re double sided tape, you know that?” It was Doyoung's considerably polieter way of saying Mark was two faced.

 

Mark throws Doyoung a sweet smile, one that’d melt all the teachers into puddles of admiring goo if it were any other day of the week. It was Saturday though, and he seemed to be conducting some other business. Highly illegal, potentially very dangerous business.

 

“Is this how you paid for the kid’s phone?”

 

Mark freezes upon the mention of Jisung. He admits, he’s always way over sensitive when the young boy’s name is brought up, but it’s all because he cares about him that much. Mark looks up from the package, halts, and debates whether he should try and trick Doyoung. It probably wasn’t a good idea considering how quick witted he was. “Yeah, but don’t worry about me. I have my back covered. Leave the kid out of it. He doesn’t know.”

 

Doyoung shrugs and pops his gum annoying Mark in the process. “I wasn’t thinking of it. He’s an innocent scholarship orphan who thinks an education at SM will actually help him.”

 

“And it will,” Mark growls, angrily zipping the bag and throwing it onto his shoulder, the side without a gun on the waist. He didn’t want them colliding with his strides. “Jisung’s a smart kid, he has a future. He’s not like… us.”

 

“What exactly does ‘like us’ mean?” Doyoung asks, his face softening and his voice losing the playfulness it always seemed to try and uphold. Mark halts when the grip on his arm gently pulls him to turn. “Mark…” Doyoung’s eyes shift quickly to the ring that seemed to glow against the black T-shirt. It’s the only thing shiny on him, and it bounces ever so slightly every time Mark moves. Doyoung’s fingers skim Mark’s chest with a gossamer touch, as if he were afraid to shatter him. Of course Doyoung noticed, there was no way he wouldn’t. “It’s her’s… isn’t it? Your mom’s?”

 

Mark rests his forehead on Doyoung’s shoulder, like his head was suddenly too heavy for his shoulders. Closing his eyes, he hopes he can force the tears to recede, but his neck strains with the effort, and he can’t stop them forever. ‘Stop… Lee Mark stop it!’ he chides himself and tells himself he didn’t, couldn’t, even cry at her funeral, so why is he doing it now? What difference did it make, if she was never coming back? If he was forever a different person now, who cares what his tears were worth?

 

Doyoung sighs like he understands. Like he too has just come to terms with her absence, although he’s known about it for a few weeks now. Watching that ring that used to sparkle and twinkle on her finger hang dull around her son’s neck had been an obvious hint that she was gone. That’s why they couldn’t go back. That’s why Mark had been so hesitant to make new memories with Doyoung, because her absence would be in each one of them. Like a bumpy blot in an old photograph, the space that should have Melanie Lee stood out too much. Too much for Mark to cope with. “Cry,” Doyoung whispers, almost harshly as he swallows his own cracking voice. It hurts, his head’s pounding and he can feel the muscles contracting in his neck, as if they’re trying to trap the air that’s leaving him. Suffocating. Doyoung feels like he’s suffocating because he can practically feel the pain radiating off of Mark. The pain that he refuses to let out of the floodgates.

 

“Cry it all out. Then it’ll be okay.”

 

It was ridiculous. It would never be okay. Her, the one person who was unconditionally on  their side in everything they did, being gone. That would never just be accepted as something that was standard. Doyoungs fingers press into Mark’s back, but it doesn’t hurt a tenth of a tenth as much as Mark’s tight chest as he starts to cry. What Doyoung said might have seemed ridiculous, but it was true. Letting the tears gush out of his eyes made Mark feel as if a giant splinter stuck in between his fingers hand been dislodged. “Cry,” Doyoung chokes out, between his own amassing spit and snot, it’s a wet, dirty, ugly cry. They’re both flushed and sweating and trying to catch their breaths but the tears won’t let up. The tears are merciless, they don’t care if they’re hurting them. Mark grabs onto Doyoung for dear life, the chains he’s wearing imprint all over Mark’s flesh, bleeding through the thin fabric of his shirt, but Mark doesn’t care. He even enjoys it because the uncomfortable rub of metal on him is keeping him sane. Grounded. Doyoung is keeping him sane. The same scent Mark always secretly liked, cherry blossoms and fresh linen, embraces him just as snuggly as Doyoung does with his strong arms.

 

“Thank you,” Mark whispers. It had everything he wished to convey. Both his gratitude and his signal to be helped a little longer. Doyoung doesn’t let go; he doesn’t loosen up. He breathes deeply and presses Mark further into him, as if leaving a millimeter of space was unbearable. “Like us…” Mark pauses to find the right words, “like us means people with targets on their backs and signs above their heads. Once the sign reads zero, we’re taken out. I know the unfairness and sorrow of being worth nothing. Jisung’s not like us. He can’t become like us.”

 

Doyoung nods, his sharp chin against the base of Mark’s neck and his cheek on Mark’s shoulder. “Let’s keep him out of this then.”

 

Mark finally lets out a tired chuckle and is the first to try and pull away, although Doyoung doesn’t let him go so easily and stalls for a bit. Mark reaches up and pats his friend’s beautiful face, “We’re keeping him in the dark for a good reason.”

 

Doyoung takes Mark’s rough hand and runs his thumb over the scratchy callouses, wondering when Mark was forced to become this way. When he had to really grow up and act as an adult, a survivor. A tiger, not a cub. “We’re keeping him out of the dark,” Doyoung kisses Mark’s knuckle and lets him walk out to finish the delivery, “just like i wish i could have kept you out of it.” But Mark was right. Him and Mark were lumped into one category. It was not 'people like Doyoung' and 'people like Mark' ; it was people like 'us.' They were more alike than Mark would have liked to admit, and more alike than Mark let on. Mark was destined for this life ever since he was born into his family, from the beginning. It was unfortunate because Doyoung wished, out of all the people in his life and in this whole small world of theirs, that Mark wouldn't have to see the cruelty behind the machine. Doyoung knows he can blame himself for falling blind to all the grown up's tricks, he can hate himself for not being able to keep certain promises, but he couldn't bring the old Mark back.

 

It was all okay though. Because Doyoung was also aware of the fact that he can love Mark, no matter who he turned out to be. Even now, Mark was behind his happiest laughs, the reason for his brighest smiles, the only one who made Doyoung want to be a better man than he ever was. The past didn't matter to Doyoung, the betrayl and the loss, if it meant Mark was safe and happy. That meant Doyoung was too.

 

 

Mark was actually surprised CG-MFAL was involved with drugs. In all the years he’s been there, they’ve never gone that low. He’s not surprised as to why they got their hands dirty though. It’s always like this. Mark carries one bag of something in, and the expected result is he carries multiple bags of paper out. Useless, dirty, filthy, good-for-nothing money. What was all this pressed tree carcass good for anyway? No matter how much he hated it though, it was ironic that he was on his way to trade what looked like fine flour for stacks of it.

 

4: 43 AM

 

Mark is exactly 8 minutes early to his second drop off, getting on the dingy elevator. The man sitting on the stool at the front desk looks about as reliable as a pathological liar asked to be a witness in court. So in short, very unreliable seeing he was snoring away with his oldies ballads station playing away in the system. Mark reaches to press for the roof on faded buttons with barely legible numbers when a meaty hand grasps the frail doors, forcing them to halt and reopen.

 

Before Mark can drop his cargo and reach for the gun, sweaty palms twist his arm and a sharp pain pierces his abdomen as he trashes away. He can hear panic ringing alarms like mad in his ears, taste the desperation on his cracked lips. Mark wants to yell, horrified that he would die while still a minor, but something clogs his airways and he can’t tell if it’s blood or helplessness. It’s like his legs have abandoned him and decided to stop their functions, treated him like he was already dead. He collapses onto his knees when the blade comes sailing towards him. Mark manages to react and grab it with his fleshy hand that feels the harsh sting as a consequence. The cut squirts blood all over his neck, but Mark can’t close his eyes. He refuses to. He won’t die. Not here. Fate must have wanted to commend his efforts because just then the wail of police sirens cut clear through the night air. They sound like the horns of angels at the moment and Mark doesn’t care if he’ll get caught with pounds of heroin if it means at least he’ll be caught with his lifeline still intact.

 

“We have to go….”

 

Mark grabs their arm with the little strength he can muster in his still-somewhat-functioning arm. In the desperate scramble to grab something he yanks the jacket one of them was wearing. The man struggles, but Mark bites his lips and clasps the loose piece of clothing tighter in his grips. "His blood's all over it, leave it!" Falling to the floor, Mark hugs the only evidence he's managed to obtain. Under better situations he'd be congratulating himself for somewhat thinking straight. But as the gruff voices fade along with their vulgar curses, Mark almost cries with bitter spite at being left alone on the cold floor to die like a slaughtered animal, the elevator door ramming his leg then backing off again every few seconds. His twisted arm stays limp, completely useless at the moment while the dirty germ and bug infested floor puts minimal pressure on his open wound (or wounds, he doesn’t even have the mind to count). Mark hopes his guts aren’t all over the floor already. “God… oh lord…” He’s clearly not very religious because he doesn’t know what to say after that but he has half the mind to know that he must sit up and cover his wound, one, and that he must call for help, two.

 

“Pick up… Doyoung, pick up!” Mark yells at his phone, but all he gets is a beep to leave a message. Of course, why would that bed-bug be up at 5 AM? He wouldn't! Mark quickly presses end on his blood smeared screen and tries wiping the red liquid away before figuring out it’s certainly worthless and actually doing more harm than good trying to clean it. There’s only one other number worth trying and Mark knows he’ll have a truckload of explaining to do, but it’s worth it. If it meant he could live. Because Mark realizes he doesn’t want to die. Not yet.

 

Mark doesn’t know why he choose this number out of all his associates, and why he was so confident they’d pick up. So damn confident that even as he realized his consciousness was slipping he heard their ‘hello’ and knew he’d be saved. Mark trusted that he’d come, and then he dropped his phone in a pool of blood before closing his eyes.

 

 

He’s asleep. Unquestionably, who wasn’t asleep at this time? Even intense gamers and night owls were turning off their computers and ending their work to find the comforts of bed. His phone rings, blasting its music on an annoyingly high volume, but he’s not afraid of waking anybody up. He practically uses the whole west wing by himself now that the house was remodeled to add another building. Nobody would be bothered. Nobody would dare say so even if they were. Nobody but himself.

 

“Who the fuck…”

 

Brushing the freshly dyed white hair away from his eyes, he grabs the phone. “Wh--” before he can finish the question and logically think about why they were calling at almost 5 AM, he slides the green button to the side and answers while masking the tired raspiness in his awoken voice, “hello?”

 

“Help…”

 

Mark’s voice is depleted, like he’s running out of breath and struggling to keep it there. “Too much blood…”

 

“Where are you?” Taeyong jumps out of bed and throws on a random shirt while scouring his closet for pants, any pair that’s pants. He almost trips himself while running down the stairs, but doesn’t let the phone out of his death grip. “Mark, do you hear me? Don’t go to sleep, keep talking to me!” Taeyong doesn’t even have the mind to panic because he knows these situations well. He’s familiar with them, and panic only meant a bad ending. He somehow manages to pull on shoes, not bothering with the socks, and hops into a car, whichever one was fast, he wasn’t even paying attention. “Mark I need an address.” Silence, “Mark? MARK!” Taeyong tells himself to calm down. He forces his breathing to stop so that it's not a distraction to his sharp hearing. He demands that his ears ignore the roaring of his engine as he makes his way out of the secluded neighborhood that nestled his huge manor, cursing at the roads for being so curvy.

 

If there’s one thing he can make out besides the constant grinding of something heavy, it’s the soft hum of music. Elevator music. It had to be, it was muted, in the background, from the way it was calm and the voice cheesy Taeyong guessed someone old was choosing the playlist. Soft scratches and tiny glitches suggested a record even. Nothing like that would be allowed in the fancy modern contemporary districts which means Mark was out in a public place (not an apartment that would need a code and had security), but one that was old. Maybe neglected and clearly not guarded well. A red district motel. Places Taeyong would be familiar with, but he wonders why Mark would be there.

 

“Mark? Can you hear my voice?”

 

Nothing. Taeyong can make out a few soft grunts that reassure him he isn’t too late yet. He has time, but it was running out. The loud chattering of teeth makes Taeyong angrily stomp on the pedal, really making it stick to the floor. He’s losing too much blood. The blood Mark was referring to was his own and Taeyong’s horrified that when he arrives all he’ll see is red. Cars can honk and people can curse, but he can’t stop. His tires protest with high screetching as they angrily blaze across the roads.

 

 

Taeyong abandons his car just outside the red light district. He knows that lugging such a huge luxury around will attract more attention, meaning more stops from people looking for something. Either a night with him or a night with his stolen keys. On his feet though, he feels more worthless than ever. He couldn’t go searching all of these motels, could he?

 

At wit’s end and desperate, Taeyong grabs a random girl on the street.

 

“What the fuck you fucking--” she stops upon seeing his face, and attempts to smile while telling herself she really got a find when Taeyong shoves a wad of whatever was in his pocket into her grabby hands.

 

“You paying up fron---”

 

“Elevator or lobby music. Which of these hotels plays music?”

 

Taeyong then realizes it might be a bar but… no, there was no sound of people, drunk or otherwise. Mark was alone. Dying and alone and Taeyong was about to go crazy any second because of that thought alone.

 

“Hummm~” she grins, clearly not reading the situation very well and seeing Taeyong’s desperateness as a thirst and not the distress it really was. “Interesting taste.”

 

“Old classic ballads,” Taeyong demands, gripping her arm as if he’s trying to squeeze the information out of her quicker. She really seemed to like taking her dear old time seeing as she was tapping her cheap pink heels on the dirty sidewalk and humming through her nose while a colorless blob of sticky gum came out to greet him every few seconds before popping untastefully. She raises a bold eyebrow at him as if she was debating whether to actually entertain him or not. Handsome face aside he looked completely wacko, like he’s lost it.

 

“Tell me.” Taeyong slams a credit card into her hand, “now.”

 

She looks down at the shiny black square in awe. She’s never been handed so much power before in her life. The little piece of plastic could get her a penthouse in one of the best buildings in Gangnam, easy. And he was trading it for the name of some stingy run down hotel that none of the clients ever went to. None of the girls took anyone their because of all the cockroaches and the mean old men or women sitting there who’d butt into every business that wasn’t their own.

 

“The only motels that play old music are on the other side. Two blocks down there’s a string of older motels. Nobody goes to them, they’re just not ‘hot places’ anymore. I’ll take you if y--”

 

But he’s already gone, and all she had to go by was the name that was engraved on the card in shiny silver; a stark contrast to the smooth black. Lee Taeyong.

 

“Ahh…” gasping she drops the card and kicks it into the sewer, shaking her head and hugging herself against the sudden chill, she stomps off. “So that’s the face of Seoul’s scariest gang.” She knows she’ll only live if she keeps her mouth shut, and she’s glad she didn’t actually try to sleep with him. Getting entangled with people like him only meant being swept away, disappearing, being silenced. She saw it too many times before, when she was naive and first on the streets as a runaway. At home there were drunk relatives that beat you, but in the real world she finds that sober monsters do it instead. It was much scarier than home.

Nabi, also known as Butterfly, counts about 900,000 W (~800 USD) in cash before swiftly shoving it into her pocket and checking behind her shoulder for wondering eyes. She can put it in the account for her little Namu’s education. “I guess running into a killer isn’t always so bad after all.” It was true, she didn’t know who’d she met on the streets, but now she had a place to drift back to. A kid to grab at her with his tiny little fingers and smile with his soft brown eyes. Home wasn’t drunk fighting and smashed bottles anymore. Home was refuge, home was family, and the W900,000 was for her home, her Namu.

 

 

Taeyong shoves open the faded brown door with his shoulder and lets out a soft ‘oof.’ A girl gasps at his sudden intrusion and he immediately leaves after scanning the ground around the elevator and seeing it’s clean. From the whooshing Taeyong hears through the phone he can guess that Mark is on ground floor and the main door is letting in wind. Nothing else would produce such a continuous sound. This hotel’s door was too heavy to be swayed by just normal wind, so it was the wrong place.

 

He skips past a few hotels with sturdy gates and skids into the next one. The music is too upbeat, so he runs out. “Watch it!” A man yells, his breath reeking of heavy and expensive alcohol. Taeyong ignores the senator and makes a mental note to ruin his political career and make sure he can never lift his face in all of South Korea ever again. Taeyong was that stressed and hypersensitive that things he would normally not even bat an eyelash at were pissing him off to no end. His eyes started blurring with helplessness, and he had half the heart to rip all of his hair out. “Mark…” Taeyong doesn’t even realize he’s whispering Mark’s name as an anthem to keep going, but he is. Taeyong finally shoves open a hideous, flappy, rotting green door that looks like it would fall off the rusty hinges even when undisturbed.

 

“Oh my god, Mark!”

 

The sight in front of him jars Taeyong and makes him want to throw up on the floor. Despite living a violent life since he was young, Taeyong doesn't know why the scene in front of him shakes him up more than anything he's ever seen before. Ignoring the old man with a knife lodged into his skull, Taeyong makes his way over to Mark who’s leaned against a side of the elevator, the door coming to hit his extended leg before returning back into its slot, only to repeat itself again and again systematically.

 

“Mark, I’m here! I’m right here, don’t worry…”

 

“Taeyong,” Mark’s bright red fingers come up to feebly press Taeyong’s face, checking. It was as if Mark were afraid that he’d gone mental, or really died and saw an angel. Taeyong’s face certainly was perfect like one, and the new white hair wasn’t helping Mark’s confused mind. “I can…” Mark grunts as Taeyong ushers him off the ground and onto his broad back ignoring the warm slosh of blood on his cotton shirt. The moans of pain lodge themselves into Taeyong's chest, and he swears to everything holy he will personally rip apart the people who made Mark hurt like this. “I can explain…”

 

“No,” Taeyong grinds his teeth and quickly walks out of the nightmarish scene, “the ones who did this to you can explain themselves… right before I end them.”

 

Mark’s arm falls limp, but Taeyong can still feel the soft breaths strapping Mark’s soul into place. He can’t die. He won’t die. Taeyong feels the warmth of Mark’s body on his back, the weak exhales from Mark’s bright lips on the nape of his neck, the pulse of Mark’s strong heart, the tenseness of Mark’s muscles on his fingertips. “Just live. All you have to do for me is live.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much everybody for being patient and waiting for updates! And the comments too~ I love reading them so much! Hope everybody enjoyed this update!
> 
> This chapter was a little... dark. At least we know that Mark and Doyoung were super close and especially to Mark's sweet mother T^T although she died... due to... unfortunate circumstances (to be revealed at a later date) and YES Mark was referring to his mother last chapter when he said Doyoung really loved her (in a son-mother type of way) don't worry Doyoung only really loves Mark XD
> 
>  
> 
> Who was Mark's mother though? And who is Mark?!!
> 
> I hope Taeyong coming to the rescue actually looked cooler in your imagination than in my writing ;^^ he did desperately go searching every motel for Mark, it was meant as a sign of dedication, but Idk how well that turned out.
> 
> Also, I hope you guys don't mind that I expanded the random night girl's story... I just seem to see that a lot of people think these girls all want it and are dirty or commonly referred to as 'hoes' bleh bleh, you know what, I'm not changing anybody's thinking, but I notice that some of these girls/ and guys too are really... unfortunate. I notice it might not be all, but a good majority. I don't think anybody willingly chooses to sleep with others as their dream job. Their lives. Their backgrounds... Sometimes i feel people are simply trying to survive, so I tried giving her a little story and some hope. She won't show up again, but... The story focuses on the divide between having money and not. How sorrowful and angering and unfair it may be to simply be a poor person in society. I kinda used that theme as my excuse to give the passing side character a realistically sad background so I hope you guys were okay with the sudden 'detour'  
> this was a long A/N Thank you for reading~ if you read it to the end ^^


	9. A learning Curve

Doyoung’s patience are about to become non-existent as he slams his fist harshly against the heavy and dark cherry oak doors, ignoring the dull aches radiating their way up his arm. Johnny, who was watching all of this, feeling sorry for the door, and wondering why Doyoung was so worked up considering Mark just joined that group, was emitting more calm than he felt at the moment. Taeyong yanks the door out of their faces and somehow manages to look like he was the one who had been on Death’s doorstep, not Mark.

 

 

“Where is he?” The frantic fever in Doyoung’s voice couldn’t be missed. Plus, the way he grabbed onto Taeyong’s shirt in tight coils, and his eyes practically popping out of their sockets showed just how desperate Doyoung was to see him and be reassured that surely nothing was wrong.

 

 

Taeyong wordlessly points to the staircase as if his voice won’t even work, but Johnny’s not buying it. Doyoung doesn’t care about the story, he sprints up the stairs taking two at a time, and doesn’t even look back to see if the rest are following him.

 

* * *

 

“What did you do?” Johnny demands, when he’s finally alone with Taeyong.

 

 

Taeyong glares at Johnny harshly before realizing it and looking down at the floor in shame. He can’t be like this to Johnny. Still, there is frustration evident in his thin voice, “Why does everybody assume that I’m the cause of all the bad things that happen around me?” Johnny snorts and stays silent, like he knows that Taeyong knows the answer to that question. Their past experience should have been answer enough. Taeyong’s slender fingers run through his shiny silver hair as he lets out an exasperated sigh, one of defeat. “Seriously. This time I don’t know who or why or even when exactly, but Mark called me at around 5 AM and I went to find him almost dead. Just go see him. He’ll be able to tell us more.”

 

 

“Is he up?” Johnny keeps his voice monotone and clipped, masking as much worry and emotion as he can. Lee Taeyong didn’t even deserve to see an ounce of humanity from him. Nothing. He couldn’t give Taeyong the satisfaction of knowing what a human connection was like because that savage, heartless, cold monster would just misuse it. Like he did with their dear friend Minsu. Taeyong didn’t deserve to know that Johnny felt anything anymore, especially around him. And for a time, Johnny didn’t. Losing Minsu left a chasm in his heart that would never be filled. With time Johnny learned how to navigate around it and push it to a corner of his mind, but it was always there, and Lee Taeyong held the gun that shot the hole. Johnny’s one worry was that Mark would end up like Minsu, and Taeyong would repeat himself. That Taeyong would one day rip off the false face and reveal his true colors, and by then it’d be too late for Mark to save himself from the fall. _‘He can’t know what an important friend Mark is to me,’_ Johnny tells himself as he frowns harder. Because while every day was difficult to breath with one hole, Johnny didn’t know if he could even survive with two.

 

 

“No, he keeps sleeping” Taeyong’s voice shakes like he’s nervous for whatever reason and he checks the clock on the hallway wall. Mark should be up by now, and Taeyong can’t stomach the fact that if he were even a few seconds late Mark would never wake up, but he gives Johnny a relatively calm response, considering the situation anyway. “I think he needs more rest.”

 

 

“Fine.” Johnny stalks up the stairs, in a much less hurried fashion than Doyoung.

 

* * *

 

“MARK!” Doyoung frantically pushes into the room and startles the nurse who’s by the bed, gathering Mark’s dirty cloths and dropping them into her basket. Although usually a gentleman, Doyoung doesn’t have the right mind to tell her he was sorry for jumping in, he just lunges straight for Mark’s hand. He wasn’t always too dramatic, but seeing Mark, paled and whining in his sleep, makes Doyoung want to throw himself off a building for missing the call. As if drawn out by the familiar voice, Mark feebly cracks open his eyes and groans.

 

 

Doyoung sighs while crystalline tears rush down his face smoothly. All the doubts and nervousness and self-loathing seemed to melt away in one moment leaving a way for the unspoken tears to unleash themselves as bullet-like droplets that zip down his face.

 

 

“Hyung… haa… are you crying?” Mark smiles like a fool and Doyoung playfully throws his hand down, pretending to be cross, before grabbing him again.

 

 

“You fool! You absolute, terrible fool don’t ever scare me like that!”

 

 

“Gee,” Mark laughs before wincing and rushing his hand to his abdomen, “love you too, Hyung.”

 

 

Doyoung gently uses his other hand to lift Mark’s cotton shirt, one that probably belonged to Taeyong seeing as it was slightly big. Doyoung clumps Mark’s shirt in his shaky fist and clenches his jaw so hard the sound of his teeth grinding against each other catches the attention of Mark. “Hyung…”

 

 

“I’ll find them,” Doyoung finally meets Mark’s eyes, but they don’t reassure him. In fact, Mark shivers and despite almost having to greet death because of them, he starts feeling sorry for the people who were sent to hit him. They were probably just following orders.

 

 

“I have one of their jackets,” Mark points weakly to the piece of clothing hanging on a nearby chair and wonders if he’s doing the right thing. He hasn’t really seen Doyoung mad, or even irked to be correct. Maybe a little disgruntled, but ever since they were young all Mark remembers is a very gentle and caring, at times savage, but playful friend. Doyoung harshly grabs the jacket like it being there offends him, which considering who was wearing it he probably is offended by its existence. His hands violently pats the limp thing until they stop, then turn into a pocket easily.

 

 

“A card,” Doyoung observes, blankly, while looking at the obvious black logo that’s popping out against the crisp medically to-neat-to-be-real white paper. CG-MFAL is forcefully printed at the top in professional ink. Idiots. What idiots hang onto easily traceable possessions that link them to their employers? The answer was simple enough.

 

 

“They hired _**amatures**_ to take me out?” Mark asks, probably offended by the mere prospect.

 

 

“Apparently so,” Doyoung huffs, flipping the card swiftly between his middle and forefinger, sticking it out face down for Mark to keep, if he wished. Whether Mark wanted to know his very real and dangerous enemy or not, was his choice, and Doyoung was respecting Mark’s right to just throw the card down and never worry about it. Ignorance was bliss sometimes. Even if Mark knew who was after him, they wouldn’t hurt him. They couldn’t. Not before Doyoung got to them and took care of them first.

 

 

Without hesitation Mark flips the card and sees the familiar logo. “They wouldn’t,” Mark’s face falls with unmasked pain and betrayal. Doyoung’s heart sinks because he’s just too innocent. To think, that Mark really believed they were on his side. “I’m one of them! Why would they order a hit on me?” Doyoung isn’t exactly certain how to answer that, so he doesn’t. Mark could pick out the answer himself, Doyoung was sure of it, because all the parts to the whole were right there. Tauntingly hung over their small child-like faces. Waiting to be addressed. “N-no!” Mark shakes his head and his voice breaks like a vase falling on cold marble. Utterly and miserably. Doyoung winches like he’s been cut by the flying residue, whatever was left of Mark was ripping into his flesh and making it increasingly hard for him to keep calm.

 

 

“Mark,” Doyoung’s voice comes out hushed, but that makes the reality come faster for Mark. “There’s something I learned when I was young, and I want to tell you this because I _**really**_ care for you. I don’t want you learning this the hard way, but we’re all alone. There’s nobody to trust in this whole world except for ourselves.” Mark can feel that Doyoung believes in his words wholeheartedly, and they make Mark unbearably sad for him. To be that alone. To be so completely cut off from all others. It was such a harsh thing to do and accept, but Doyoung had accepted it before Mark could even consider the possibility. And to think, there was only a 7 month difference between the two, yet it seemed like Doyoung had a century of life experiences to back up his well matured life philosophy. Indeed, it seemed like they were from two different worlds despite living in the same playing field.

 

 

_Doyoung is 6 when he can speak english fluently. He’s brighter than the other children, the other 1% of 1%. His frequent visits to Canada help, of course, but his english tutor always make a woefully distasteful face when he fails to say certain words like ‘bagel’ the ‘right’ way. Apparently, American English was all the rage these days, whatever that meant, to the little boy it was all irrelevant rubbish. He hated english. Although in his mind it was clear what he wanted to say, and the order of words came naturally he had to rearrange them then translate them to a foreign tongue. That meant getting his message across 3 seconds later than intended, and that, to an impatient boy of 6 years, is devastating. Has he complained? Of course he’s complained._

 

 

_“I don’t want to use English!”_

 

 

_What he got in response was said language textbooks piled on top of each other until the weight seems unbearable. Even Atlas would cry, Doyoung swears by this. His arms shook violently under the unstable stack until he sobbed his way to some pity. Doyoung was 6 when he learned to stop complaining about the inevitable. It was unimportant to the adults if he ‘liked’ or ‘disliked’ something, as long as it had value and was worth learning he would have to learn it. Having fun, playing in the sandbox, riding his bike, all of those things so typical to other kids came as a reward for him only if he acted like an adult first._

 

 

_Somehow, somewhere, in his process of growing up things had taken a missguided turn. Doyoung was smarter than the others only because he already knew what made the world tick, what petted the enormous egos of adults and made them kneel to match his level. Blind obedience. Innocently blinking his eyes, throwing in a pleasant smile, saying the right answer quickly enough not to be annoying but slow enough not to seem like he was smarter than them, when he really was. All these were key in playing with the adults and using their haughtiness against him._

 

 

_“Mister, you talk too much!”_

 

 

_“Oh! Doyoung, you can’t say that! Apologize right now!”_

 

 

_“I can’t?” Doyoung would swallow his alligator tears and tremble his plump little lips while staring at the man with wide saucer eyes. Nothing malicious could be hidden behind those eyes. After all, he’s just a child. What could he possibly be plotting? (More importantly, what could he possibly be **able** to plot?) Doyoung almost laughs at the naive thoughts of grown ups. Of course he can’t say that, he just really wants the old man to shut up and let him leave to mess with his vintage figurine collection._

 

 

_With a “good natured” laugh the man ruffles Doyoung’s hair and looks nervous, like he really doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if Doyoung actually started crying. “I suppose all this business is very boring to a ~~mere~~ child,” Doyoung can almost taste the missing ‘mere’ that should have been in the sentence. He’s only 7, by this time, but already filling in all the adult’s boney sentences with the flesh that was applied as if he were filling out a unit quiz with blank lines. “No need to be sorry, why don’t you go downstairs and watch TV?”_

 

 

_Doyoung suddenly brightens and hops off the couch, away from his step-mother, “Okay, mister! I like you!” Doyoung hates his guts. But the sudden declaration seems to have hit the spot because the man laughs, a fairly genuine one at that, and tells the maid to get Doyoung fruit to eat while watching TV._

 

 

_While Doyoung nibbles his apple slices and opens glass cases to take out old, rusty, out of place dolls, he supposes the straight up lie has its juicy perks. At age 7 Doyoung learns that adults would rather hear a lie, than the honest truth, and on a rare occasion they need to hear a truth, they’d perfer to hear a half rather than a full one._

 

 

_Doyoung is 14 when he starts his own businesses. Because he’s 14 when he realizes that even if his father gave him half his DNA, half his very being, he’d never even get half of his father’s love. All of it went to his brother, Gongmyung, which Doyoung wasn’t saying was bad, per say. Gongmyung deserved it more, probably. If Doyoung was being objective he’d love his brother more too. Anyway, the irrevocable truth was that whether both boys liked it or not, Gongmyung was going to take over the company and Doyoung was going to get nothing. Trying to run something for the first time by oneself on top of school and trying to hang out while truly enjoying his youth was hard though. It was a setup for him to make mistakes._

 

 

_“It was a slight miscalculation.”_

 

 

_“A miscalculation that cost millions!”_

 

 

_Doyoung doesn’t see why his father is so worked up, and why his wife is allowed to sit in on the conversation while giving Doyoung a disappointed look. What right did she have to be disappointed in him, if she wasn’t even expecting anything from him in the first place? That’s right, none._

 

 

_“I can get it back, there’s nothing to worry about!”_

 

 

_“It’s my money you’re messing up with.”_

 

 

_Of course that was what this was all about. It was always about that. “I gave back your original investment and more,” Doyoung growls. It was his company. His label. His child, basically. He put in the work after school, he did homework in the office while assigning things to his teams of workers, he hand picked people for their positions, wrote their checks and salaries. He built that street fashion internet mall from nothing into a worldwide enterprise all while maintaining perfect scores in all his core classes at SM Academy. They had no right, and as a naive boy still filled with ambition and passion, it was the most upsetting obstacle yet. One trading embargo mess up and his father was threatening to pull all plugs. That meant Doyoung had to find a new building to use as HQ, new staff, new companies. Of course he owed a lot of material and facility help to his father, but it was family!_

 

 

_“Helix Apparel would be nothing without my help, it’ll be gone in a week if I say so.”_

 

 

_That hit a nerve. All his sleepless nights coming up with a logo, all the coffee he practically inhaled while sifting through piles of designs from his workers. All the times he sat in his glass box of an office and watched them stay overnight, their children wrapped in blankets on the couch as they worked for him. If anything, Doyoung felt more for his team. He felt wronged for them and for the first time ever he realized how devastating it was to be anywhere but at the top of a hierarchy. How immobilizing it was to be reliant on someone else._

 

 

_“I’m your own son, you heartless, monster without blood or tears or--”_

 

 

_The slap lands so perfectly Doyoung can feel the imprint of his father’s hands on his left check. By instinct his own hand comes up to cup his face. Surprisingly his father’s hand must have had some sort of warmth in them because his whole face stings and he thinks he can hear the sizzling and smell the burning of his face. His step mother doesn’t even flinch, merely closes her eyes and breathes deeply from her nose, like this was all expected. Like fathers hitting their own children was something of a norm._

 

 

_“A **failure** is no son of mine.” His step mother nods in agreement, but of course she would. He wasn’t a son of hers failure, or not._

 

 

_So Helix was shut down and the news dabbled with possible reasons for a few weeks before it was forgotten. Like a lie, his whole dream had been wiped out of people’s lovely memories forever. The tags, the extra labels, the blank generic shirts and hats and pants, Doyoung stubbornly stored them in his room in huge cardboard boxes in case Helix ever made a miracle recovery. For that one window of opportunity to be blown open, he waited. The designs sat in a corner of his desk, empty books waited to be put to use (to hold color again), and he saved all extra lunch money or holiday allowances from famous relatives in a jar for the reboot._

 

 

_One day, Gongmyung regretfully sat him down and informed him that it was time to let it go; because Father was starting a new internet mall. Helix wouldn’t have a place in the family business anymore. All the facilities and companies overseas in China or Thailand would only produce for their father’s new gig, and Doyoung was chased out of his own game like he was some unwanted virus._

 

 

_Doyoung was 15 when he finally acknowledge what he found out the day he was struck by his father, but had refused to accept at the time. Family? Friends? A team? Give all that to the street dogs. Everyone is alone. They’re born alone, they’ll all die alone. In front of money, in front of power, in front of fame everything was the same. Below it. To achieve a goal people will use you, drain you, or worse throw you out. With just 15 years of life Doyoung finds out a secret that people may go their whole careers without really learning._

 

 

_Everybody was alone. To survive, you had to fend for yourself. Trust nobody. Whatever it took, protect what you have, fight for what you want, build yourself up. Because nobody was going to do it for you, and nobody was going to help you for you, if they did help it was for them. At 15, Doyoung was already all grown up._

 

 

“I trust you though,” Mark breaks a wall Doyoung didn’t even know he was trying to build and brings him back to the present moment.

 

 

Doyoung coughs, “what?”

 

 

“I trust you. Can I not?”

 

 

“No!” Doyoung doesn’t want that. “Trust me.”

 

 

“Your words have a paradox then,” Mark giggles softly before grimacing.

 

 

Doyoung understands that, because he knows the theory of a paradox quiet well. Unlike Taeyong and Jaehyun he actually paid close attention in class. A paradox: ‘a seemingly absurd statement or proposition that when investigated or explained may prove to be well founded or true.’ In human words, something that was self-contradicting. He didn’t know how to explain himself with this one, really.

 

 

All his life his solid hypothesis was built up and supported by fact which became his truth. Every single adult, every single childhood acquaintance that grew up around him into carbon copies of their pretentious parents, his blood relatives that smiled their fake, perfectly white smiles at him were all living testimonies to what he knew to be absolutely true. Until Mark. The anomaly. The outlier. The one that didn’t fit. Suddenly everything was inverted on its head and he felt like he was free falling because he realizes he’s accidently trusted Mark to be careful with the most important part of him. A part that couldn’t be fixed if dropped. One that was irreplaceable and so unique that all the matter in the universe only combined itself perfectly to fabricate one. Only one for him, and he entrusted Mark with it. Doyoung stands in the room, watching Mark stare at him and blink those beautiful onyx orbs expectantly at him, and realizes something. Now, at 18, Doyoung learns that love has the uncanny ability to build the craziest things. An intricate and delicate thing like trust, which he thought himself incapable of constructing seemed to be easily assembled by love.

 

 

"You can trust me, because I trust you." ** _Because I love you. Because just like I wouldn't want one bad thing to happen to you, because just like I want to protect you and I hope you always smile and that you're healthy and living your life, I hope, I wish, I somehow in the deepest part of my heart know, that you'd want that for me._**

 

 

"We're not alone then, right?"

 

 

"Yeah," Doyoung breaths. Right. So everything he knew as 'right' up until now, his whole life, comes to a complete halt just like that. Disarmed by Mark, in bed, looking like hell but still somehow smiling up at him with all the sweetness in the world shining in the glint of his eyes. Doyoung finally knows what child-like innocence means, and he finally realizes it's neither a bad or downgrading remark. It's a truly wonderful and purly beautiful look, especially on Mark Lee. At 18 Doyoung learns what it means to trust someone because he hopes to be trusted, and for the first time, after meeting Mark in Canada when he was just 10 years old, Doyoung finally acknowledges the feeling people call love. He learns that there was something in the world above family, above friends, above even himself, and it came to him as a crinkled nose and messy hair and squeaky laugh. It came to him as Mark Lee.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although it may seem more like a Markyoung/Markdo right now... I swear it's still a story about the leeaders (lol aka markyong)


	10. Pull me closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers,  
> Sorry this update has been LONG overdue T^T  
> I think my work stress, college stress, physical illness, and mental health all compiled into an ugly few fall/winter months  
> My new year hope is to write more though! So please be a little more patient with me ^^  
> Thank you for the long wait!

So, Mark isn’t who he says he is. He isn’t what he appears to be. He isn’t willing to share, it seems, either. Taeyong doesn’t know how to feel about that, and he doesn’t know how they went from cute transfer student and school gangster to friends(?) sharing a bed.

 

 

Wait. Rewind.

 

 

Out of all the possible bedrooms he could have chosen in his west wing, Taeyong picks the most furnished, the most tasteful, and the most comfortable one. His own. It must have happened self consciously because by the time he gets a nurse, his maid, and his butler all in there to help Mark find clothes, get cleaned up, and is assured he’s a sleep not dead, he realizes he has to go to bed also. 

 

 

“Uhh, I’ll just sit here,” Taeyong tells his concerned albeit slightly amused butler.

 

 

“Are you sure young master?” He inquired in his perfectly clipped voice that refused to give away any signs of unprofessionalism, “you can’t sleep unless you’re fully laying down.”

 

 

“Ah.” Taeyong has to bite his tongue not to expose himself and tell his butler that he sleeps just fine sitting at his desk during math. Instead, Taeyong turns to look at Mark, and seeing him shaking on the large bed isn’t exactly a perfect condition that induces drowsiness. “I don’t think I’ll be sleeping at all anyway.”

 

 

“Okay young master. I’ll leave you two then.”

 

 

Is it a bad thing that Taeyong is relieved? Not that he’s uncomfortable with Butler Oh, who’s taken care of him since he was a child, but he had a feeling Butler Oh was enjoying this particular situation a little too much and he didn’t know if he could survive teasing on the rare occasion Butler Oh was feeling chummy and brave. Tough on the outside, but also extremely easily embarrassed; only Taeyong’s closest house staff knew that about him.

 

 

Fast forward and a lot happened in between, a lot meaning Johnny wasn’t sure he could face Mark yet but he came anyway. Taeyong observes him closely from the end of the stairway, and sees Johnny’s extended hand stop at the doorknob multiple times. It hits Taeyong then that Johnny didn’t know Mark that well either and the only one who seemed to, to really really know the multiple sides of Mark, was the guy on the other side of that wooden obstacle - Doyoung. Now that he thinks about it carefully, Taeyong didn’t call Doyoung, yet somehow his best friend found out that Mark was here and in some sort of critical condition. Hand in his pocket, trying to play it natural, and way colder than he intended to, Taeyong pokes Johnny where it hurts.

 

 

“Looks like you didn’t know Mark that well.”

 

 

Johnny sighs, Taeyong can no longer tell if it’s one of frustration or anger, and when Johnny turns to finally face him it’s even harder to decipher any sort of emotion. In the years they haven’t been friends it seemed Johnny had a growth spurt. Whereas they were shoulder to shoulder before and always had one arm slung around each other in middle school, Johnny now towered over Taeyong, and in a very intimidating manner too.

 

 

“I’ll wait for Mark to tell me what happened when he’s better,” Johnny doesn’t even spare Taeyong another glance, as if even looking at him was a waste of time and effort.

 

 

“Should I tell him you came?” Taeyong can’t turn to watch Johnny go, but he can feel the sudden halt and the kinetic presence that reassures him Johnny hasn’t walked out just yet. At least he wasn’t completely invisible to Johnny. It seemed that no matter how much his past friend tried to avoid him at school and deliberately walk the other way, Taeyong can’t get used to watching his back get smaller and eventually disappear. Maybe it’s because he feels like one day Seo Youngho won't come back, and he’ll never see him again. The silence does prompt Taeyong to finally take courage and turn, knowing Johnny will be there; likely staring at the floor or out a window or down past the open front door, and not at Taeyong, but at least he’ll be there.

 

 

“No. Don’t tell him. He probably has enough to worry about.”

 

 

That was so Johnny-like Taeyong wanted to cry. Always worried about others first, and thinking about how they’d feel. Johnny put Mark’s predicament above his own curiosity and even (probably) his own feeling of betrayal.

 

 

“Okay. You ask him yourself when you're ready.”

 

 

Johnny doesn’t even say goodbye or wait for Taeyong to send him off, and perhaps that was better. Because perhaps that meant Johnny would see Taeyong next time, and that this wasn’t ‘it.’ This wasn’t over. Somehow, down the line, Taeyong wanted to rebuild what they had before. Because while him and Doyoung got along just fine, Taeyong knows that the two of them miss something. They lack someone. Every time they swing by the old gaming room they used to frequent or go to that one particular pojang-macha two streets down from the middle school, they look at that empty third chair and frown. The fourth chair hurts too much to even bring up. Although Doyoung hides it well, sometimes better than Taeyong, losing someone hasn’t been easy for either of them.

 

 

Speaking of Doyoung though. He was spending a lot of time just staring at a sleeping Mark. Taeyong strides towards his door and is about to go in when he stops. There’s an actual conversation going on inside and he wasn’t quite sure he was invited. He cracks the door and prays that Doyoung’s sharp senses don’t hear the small clic--

 

 

“Hey! Come in.”

 

 

Not a chance.

 

 

Taeyong awkwardly clears his throat and purposefully forces the door open with more power, as if he meant to barge in from the beginning and wasn’t caught trying to sneak a peek at what was going on between the two… friends. Taeyong looks at the joined hands, Doyoung's large white fingers squeezing Mark’s protectively. Mark must have caught Taeyong’s line of sight because he quickly salvages his hand from Doyoung’s grip and throws it over his stomach, nonchalantly.

 

 

“When did you get up?” Taeyong tries for a warm smile, although it’s been a while so he doesn’t know if it comes off as intended. If it was creepy or forced, Mark didn’t show it because he responds with a dazzling eye smile, “Just a while ago. Thank you so much for saving me, really!”

 

 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

 

 

Normally, if it were anybody else, Taeyong would sit them down in a hard chair downstairs and demand they spill every single detail, important or trivial, because he sacrificed his time to help them. But this time, Taeyong didn’t even feel like he risked or gave anything. In fact, most of all he felt hopeless and he didn’t even know if he did a good job at all. Yes, of course he was glad he found Mark on time and that the boy recovered like some game character (as in too fast to be real), but part of Taeyong still shivers at the multiple ‘what if’s and he can think of at least a 100 better, faster, smarter scenarios he could have executed to get Mark back. He could have called his assets to track Mark’s number, he could have pulled some police friends to start a search, put out an APB and hand in Mark’s photo. After it was all said and done, Taeyong wonders why he was so irrational. What had made him run out by himself without any assistance in a city like Seoul searching for one person? The lost credit card and cash was unimportant to him, but seeing Mark half dead was something he vowed never to allow again, and he thanked all the forces that lead him to the right spot.

 

 

“Should I go?” Doyoung asks, raising his eyebrow and longingly staring at Mark’s hand that’s no longer in his hold. He of course looks like he wants Mark to tell him to stay. In fact, if Taeyong was reading his best friend right, Doyoung was almost sure Mark would need him there and simply waiting for confirmation. For some reason, that kind of irritates Taeyong. Really, who did that guy think he was? Whose friend was he anyway? Marks? Pfft. Taeyong would have heard that the two were friends if they’d known each other before, right? Doyoung told him everything, and Mark would have at least made an indication that they were acquainted. Sweet, innocent, large doe-eyed, honest student Mark would have told the gang that ‘hey me and Doyoung somehow know each other!!’ right?!

 

 

“Yeah,” Taeyong responds before Mark can open his mouth, and if Doyoung’s not mistaken he sees a slight glare that lasts about 0.5 seconds before it’s gone again. “You have to take Johnny home, he’s waiting in the car.” Whew. Taeyong almost gives himself a proud smile for coming up with that excuse on demand. In all honesty he momentarily forgot the two had come together, and Johnny didn’t mention having to wait for Doyoung, but it was the only explanation as to why he answered so quickly and wanted Doyoung out of there. Right. That was the only reason. Because someone was waiting. Not because Doyoung had sweet sappy honey oozing out of his eyes and Mark was practically sending a heart-stopping gummy smile towards him every few seconds. Not because Doyoung was getting too touchy-feely with Mark and leaning over to kiss his cheek and --- WAIT WHAT?

 

 

“Next time I see you, you better have recovered, okay?” Doyoung pat’s Mark’s hair and Mark feebly swats it away.

 

 

“You’re gross! Stop kissing me every time you feel like it!”

 

 

Taeyong crosses his arms and watches the interaction like it were a foreign film on his TV screen. They’re in their own little bubbly, pink-tinted world, weren’t they? Was that the smell of flowers?! Taeyong huffs while ploping himself down on the thick stone windowsill and glaring at the roses outside of his open window. Who left it open, and why the fuck did the scent match the horrendous scene taking place in front of him? Was this some 4D nightmare?!

 

 

“It’s not a kiss, my Mark! A kiss is this---”

 

 

Before Taeyong could fly across the room and actually throw his friend out the window (defenestration of Taeyong’s estate 2018, hihi), Mark actually shoves Doyoung away and pulls a ‘you-disgust-me-no-for-real’ face that makes Taeyong smirks, and suddenly all his frustration, which he didn’t know where it came from in the first place, seemed to melt away like they were a lie.

 

 

“Alright, alright! I’ll go,” Doyoung turns to Taeyong and opts for a wink. “See ya!”

 

 

Taeyong scoffs and adds with bitter sarcasm, “What, no kiss for me? Your best friend?”

 

 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Doyoung remarks while waving and heading for the exit. He swings open the door as the duo remaining watch, and turns to make eye contact with Taeyong just for dramatic effect, with a lopsided cocky smirk, “you’re not nearly as cute and kissable as Mark.”

 

 

*SLAM*

 

 

The pillow collides with a shut door and can’t muffle out a cackling laugh. “Twerp,” Taeyong mutters under his breath, and Mark, for some reason unknown to Taeyong, bursts out into a fit of tiny giggles. Although he tries to resist and hide them, they pop out.

 

 

“You’re kinda cute when you’re annoyed. I know why Doyoung Hyung tries to annoy you now.”

 

 

Taeyong’s ears, and then his whole face, start turning crimson as he half coughs half chokes to dissipate the sudden rush of embarrassment. There goes his cold ice prince image.

 

 

“I really don’t know what to tell you…” Mark’s voice suddenly loses its strength and he looks down, like he’s ashamed of something. If it was the pounds of heroin, yeah how did one explain a good scholarship kid to be doing that kind of night job? But everybody had their ways of life and explanations, Taeyong was willing to at least try and understand that. For some reason though, as the silence Mark mulled over was getting longer, Taeyong had the feeling it was more than just the drugs that were a problem. Mark had more to hide, and that meant more to risk by talking.

 

 

Nobody smart takes out their dealer or supplier, that’s asking for a drug drought. Taeyong’s eyes skim over the way Mark’s hands hover over his wounds, as if he’s still trying to cover them and stop them from spilling out his guts and life. Closing his eyes and breathing out deeply from his nose, Taeyong finally speaks first to break the silence that continued for too long to be comfortable.

 

 

“You don’t have to tell me now. Actually, just don’t.”

 

 

Mark looks like he’s unsure if Taeyong is being serious or pulling his leg, so Taeyong tacks on a smile and pats Mark’s shoulder, “I want to wait till you’re ready.” To tell me everything.

 

 

Mark is moved. He’s thrilled. It’s as if a thick, snow wetted, wool scarf (necessary but a hassle) had been smothering him under its heavy coils, and Taeyong just brought him into a warm house to yank the thing off and throw it on a hook. Mark was relieved, able to breath easy and put the incident behind him even if he knew… he knew this was temporary. Somewhere along the line, someday, Taeyong would find out or he’d want answers to who Mark was; who he really was. Lee Minhyung. He’d have to know all about Lee Minhyung. And if Mark was being honest with himself, he didn’t know if he could finally confess the truth to Taeyong when the time came. Would he sit down and tell Taeyong, his savior, a literal perfect angel, or would Mark put that burdensome scarf back on and trudge his way through the blistering cold?

 

 

Butler Oh has perfect timing. As the two of them sit there momentarily wondering what to do exactly, now that there was nothing to talk about since their hypothetical would-be conversation topic was off limits, Butler Oh walks in and almost exclaims ‘oh dear’ because of the atmosphere. He holds himself back quite well and instead delivers the message from downstairs in the kitchen.

 

 

“A late brunch is ready, young master.”

 

 

“We’ll be down!” Taeyong stands, too quickly to be smooth, and nods. Despite his eyes pleading for Butler Oh to stay and walk them down, as if he didn’t know where the dining hall was, Butler Oh turns his head swiftly with a smile and takes his quick, clipped, light steps out to the hall.

 

 

“C-can you…” Mark tugging on Taeyong’s sleeve immediately makes Taeyong’s heart lurch with the fabric. So that’s what they meant by wearing your heart on your sleeve. ~~(No, Taeyong that’s not what they mean, but okay)~~. As if his clothes were one part of him, every place Mark touched brought on the same heart-pounding-too-fast-to-be-healthy effect, which Taeyong admits he’s feeling for the first time. Maybe he’s coming down with something. Maybe his heart shrunk after the trouble it went through from being shocked at seeing Mark being stabbed half to death.

 

 

“Can I?” He must have been born to flirt because despite his stomach flipping up, down, and inside out in that particular order, his voice doesn’t even waver. In fact, he has the audacity to look wholly unmoved, and despite knowing Mark is struggling to get his words out, he smirks, making Mark want to flip over and hide under the sheets for a good century and a half.

 

 

“Can you help me?”

 

 

“You should have just asked,” Taeyong easily shoves an arm under Mark’s legs and the cover slips off as Mark’s body goes up. “Eeeepp!!” Mark practically shrieks like a child as Taeyong lifts him, full on, fashion pictorial, celebrity magazine front page, bridal style. This seemed too natural to be real, yet seeing himself in Taeyong arms reflected in the floor-to-ceiling mirror made Mark flush bright pink. He has honestly never been held in such a manner before. It was like all the (remaining) blood in his body was going to his head because Mark almost feels dizzy, so he leans his temple on Taeyong’s shoulder and squeezes his eyes shut.

 

 

“Let me down!”

 

“Make me!”

 

 

Mark doesn’t open his eyes to see the obviously crooked smile that would be on that good-for-nothing and extremely hot face. Insead, he uses flail. He throws his arms up and kicks his feet in the cutest tantrum, and if Taeyong wasn’t afraid of dropping Mark, he’d think the little temper fit was adorable.

 

 

“Hey! Careful I’ll drop y--”

 

 

It all happened in a blink of an eye and very sloppily, nothing like one would imagine it. Mark, deciding he was going to be a strong independent patient, kicks his leg a little too hard and Taeyong’s arm gives out, dropping both of Mark’s legs. In that moment, Taeyong’s reflexes react before he does and amazingly he still knows he can’t really just drop Mark on his pretty lil bum, so he pulls Mark’s shoulders towards him and quickly wraps his arm around any part of Mark. Just so happens, that now he has one arm on Mark’s waist, too. Chest to chest, Mark’s head has nowhere to go but right in front of Taeyong’s and blame it on Taeyong’s strength + momentum because that’s how _pop_. Mark’s eyes widen as he feels something soft go, boop, against his slightly opened lips. 

 

 

Taeyong also looks shocked, and unlike kdramas where the actors are paid to stare at each other ‘in surprise’ as they lock lips for what seems like minutes allowing for special effects and sparkles and the OST to play all while a slow-mo recreation of the moment starts again, Mark pulls away too quickly for anybody’s liking. While Kdrama ‘accidental kisses’ were fake, boring, and always made Mark really feel bad for his ‘forever alone’ self, a real life accidental kiss was like someone popped a firecracker in his face while shooting rockets while throwing a campfire. He pulled away because he was surprised by how much he felt in a mere second. How much his heart was palpitating too quickly to feel normal and his cheeks were going to explode and even his extremities, like his fingers and toes were twitching uncontrollably. 

 

 

“I.. I.. That was--”

 

 

“An accident,” Taeyong confirms, his arm still on Mark’s waist, but the other sliding down to his upper back. “But this isn’t.” Taeyong doesn’t even stop to think about if it’s a bad idea before he closes his eyes and goes for it. Because what the hell Lee Taeyong was still jealous as fuck about Doyoung getting to kiss Mark’s cheek. His cheek. It was just that plump part of his perfect and cute and squishy face, but Taeyong seriously felt like maybe murder was okay in that moment. (Okay, that was overboard) but the point was he couldn’t stand it. And as someone who’s never felt jealousy before, it wasn’t a good thing. Lee Taeyong honestly could even feel that it would mess him up and ruin him one of these days, but right now he needed to kiss Mark and if the cosmos were giving him this golden opportunity disguised as a mistake and bad timing, why not?

 

 

He does loosen his arms in the slightest, however, just in case Mark doesn’t want this and pulls away, but surprisingly (to both of them), Mark lets his eyes slowly flutter and close. Taking it as a good sign if any, Taeyong reclaims Mark into his arms and hugs him like he’ll squeeze and mold Mark into his own body. It works though because Mark practically melts into him, one arm wrapped in gauze resting on Taeyong’s hip, and the other pressed flat against Taeyong’s heaving chest. Mark lets out a soft gasp, and Taeyong cracks open his eyes smiling, “inviting me in?” he asks, his lips still slightly pressed over Mark’s and refusing to lose contact even when speaking. He doesn’t wait for an answer, and Mark’s not surprised when Taeyong’s tongue slips in smoothly.

 

 

Taeyong’s never kissed someone like this before. Has he angrily gotten shitfaced drunk and had sex? While yes, ever since he started high school. Was it mostly to get back and people and was he a terrible person who used people once to bring down other gangs who hurt him or his friends? Also, yes. Because jerks hated nothing more than other jerks sleeping with their girlfriends. Not something he’s proud of. Has he ever felt this much heat in his stomach, has he heard buzzing in his ear, and electric bursts of energy spiking his skin all over before? Not when he was sober. He didn’t think it was possible to feel such a way without the buzz of alcohol, but this was ten, no a hundred times more potent. In fact, as cheesy as it sounded it was literally like he was drunk on Mark Lee. Every little sound of surprise, every little twitch of his facial muscles, every time Mark put more power in his fingertips and pressed down on Taeyong before slowly relaxing again drove him insane. As embarrassing as it was Taeyong quite literally thirsted for more and he could feel himself changing. He slips his hand under Mark’s cotton shirt and tells himself he has to stop, now, or he’ll go there, and he can’t live with himself if he did. Mark wasn’t like him. Mark was different, goddammit. He was pure, and more importantly injured. It takes all of his willpower and more to finally pull away, huffing for breath and regretful. Mark is still holding onto Taeyong’s shirt, and Taeyong’s heart too, but Taeyong sadly looks to the door, hating himself for what he’s done. Who he’s accidentally tainted. Of all the people in this world and in his life, Taeyong finally found someone worth protecting and treasuring and he couldn’t even protect Mark from himself. All because he wanted to be better and leave a bigger imprint on Mark than a peck on the cheek. It disgusted Taeyong; the animal he was made him want to puke, but he can’t. Because the lingering taste of Mark is a little too sweet to loose for something like self-hatred.

 

 

“We should go eat, or else Butler Oh will kill us,” Taeyong smiles extra brightly, like nothing’s changed, and grab’s Mark’s wrist. Mark let’s Taeyong lead him downstairs without a word, because he knows what Taeyong’s pulling. Despite what people say and what Taeyong has to say about himself, Mark smiles. _‘You’re a good person, Taeyong-ie Hyung. I know you’re doing this to protect me. But I’m not as angelic as you think…’_ and that changes the smile on Mark’s face to a frown, because he’s not sure he’s even worth it, or if Taeyong will still want to hold him when he knows the truth.

 

 

“What’s wrong?” Taeyong turned to catch the heavily gloating face Mark was pulling. Mark sighs and tries to help Taeyong in his act. Pretend like none of this happened. Like the not-so-accidental second kiss was just the wrong time and wrong place.

 

 

“I’ll be sad if the brunch is cold,” Mark pouted.

 

 

Taeyong can’t help but laugh. A real laugh. One that makes his heart happy and warm and sap into his whole being. He’s glad his heart reacts like this for only Mark, because only Mark deserved it, even if he didn’t deserve Mark.


	11. Flyer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update!! Whoop~ that's two updates in two days! This is cause I felt sorry for being gone so long!!
> 
> Happy reading 💕

 

**TW: Bullying and ANTI - LGBTQ+ Slurs used, revenge plotting**

* * *

 

He hates it, but he has to force himself awake from yet another nightmare. Taeyong swallows the cry that claws at the edge of his lips, desperate for escape, because he remembers he’s not alone. Flexing his back, he’s relieved to know that yes, indeed he does not harbor scorched wax wings that dribble down his skin. It was all a horrible, horrible, figment of his imagination.

 

 

It does make him curious though. The clock by his bedside table reads 9:34 so he allows himself the luxury of daydreaming, as if being stuck in one during the night wasn’t enough. His thoughts wander to a much more comfortable place, and he’s glad he doesn’t have to wrestle the sensation of falling to imminent death. That being said:

 

 

Since when did flying too close to the sun become a bad thing? Maybe ever since Icarus left his legacy, if it could be called one anyway, for humans to mock. But what made ancient people believe the sun was dangerous, powerful, to be avoided; what made them stray away from the thought that it was beautiful?

 

 

Taeyong looks down at Mark, peacefully tucked into this bed sheets, sleeping through multiple alarms without so much as a disgruntled huff. The light from his giant windows adorns Mark’s thin face, his fading summer-tanned skin glows and the fluffy texture of his hazelnut brown hair shines, bending and twisting with each stray strand.

 

 

The thought suddenly occurs to Taeyong, somewhat spontaneously, somewhat naturally, like a paradox, that Mark was the sun in so many ways. One day, akin to the big bang that exploded from nothingness, he decided to come and disarm Taeyong’s whole high school rule book with just one nervous smile; then, without even intending to, placed himself right in the middle of Taeyong’s newly forming solar system. Suddenly Taeyong realizes he’s revolving around Mark, and he doesn’t mind. If he was a chunk of icy rock before, every time he turned to face Mark he felt rays of warmth. The invisible line that made Taeyong linger and always come back instead of flying off to an infinite oblivion, what was it? If he were a planet they’d call it inertia, but he’s a person. Or at least, he likes to wear the mask of one despite the animal inside. So, what was it? Attraction? Curiosity? A mix of both?

 

 

It’s funny how Taeyong was still curious about Mark. It was a different type of curious than what he was used to feeling. Usually, when Taeyong was curious it was because he had a need to know about the other person. Like a strictly cold, impersonal, business ‘need-to-know.’ He assessed them from afar, judged the way they held themselves, then usually sent his secretary to dust up every single documented file about the person. With Mark it was different. He hadn’t hacked the interwebs to find out who he was, and Taeyong honestly didn’t feel like he should. He was holding himself back. And for what?

 

 

The answer was clear enough, and he’s surprised he admits it so quickly. Taeyong didn’t want to cross that boundary. Stalking, hoarding info, collecting statistics: it was all great for people he had an intent to destroy, but he had no such intentions with Mark. He wanted, needed, Mark to volunteer all that information willingly. His birthplace and family relations and even how he took his coffee in the morning. While all of it was a click away, Taeyong waited patiently. In the most basic sense, Taeyong wanted to get to know Mark.

 

 

Just like how people wanted to get to know their friendly neighborhood star, the sun. The thing that awed people for centuries. Whole nations used to bow to it because they weren’t sure how or why it even worked. Instead of waiting for answers, they fabricated stories and stringed together theories. But was there ever a clear answer? Taeyong thinks about it himself and concludes that he’s not sure what the sun is. Was it a gift from the Gods? Light that showed the way? Or was it a curse? The thing that drained water right out of the deep crevices of Earth’s surface leaving nothing but cracking dirt in the wake.

 

 

What was Mark Lee. To him. To the world. The good kid who hunched over his notebook and pulled out his homework folder when asked. Or was he perhaps the kid found with translucent bags of drugs swinging over his shoulder and blood splattering over dirty tiles.

 

 

Taeyong closes his heavy eyelids just to feel how dense his breath is in his chest. He can see himself, dirty and multi-colored feathers curving like a phony bird’s wings on his back. If he could fly. If he could jump off the ledge and just take a chance - what would he do?

 

 

Icarus didn’t die because he was stupid or uninformed. He didn’t die because he was curious. ‘Will my wings actually melt?’ That question surely never crossed his mind. His father, Daedalus, was a genius inventor, and Icarus was fairly warned about the consequences of getting too close. Also, Taeyong curses himself for remembering this detail (he can’t believe he actually paid attention in his Art History class), but Icarus was warned not to fly too close to the sea either. The result would have been equally destructive. The sea foam would have wet his feathers.

 

 

In the end, Icarus chooses the sun. It’s his active and thoughtful and stupidly reckless choice. He knew, and he took the risk, and he tricked himself into thinking he could do it. Haughty thing, wasn’t he? But perhaps, what if, he was a romanticist. Maybe he saw that big shiny golden orb and craved its warmth against his skin. Taeyong opens his eyes, not sure where his thinking has lead him and why he was mapping out his soul at an awkward time in the morning, but the harder he tries not to the more he understands. That if Mark were the sun, a mysterious, dangerous, yet undoubtedly warm and beautifully alluring dot drawn against the backdrop of a clear blue sky, Taeyong wouldn’t mind flying towards him. The ocean, it’s tendrils of nightmares and waves of promised solitude, didn’t look as appealing anymore. So instead of plunging into the sea, Icarus dove into the light; and because now Taeyong knows just what his sun could be, he would choose the same fate? Oh. What has Mark Lee done to him?

 

 

“Humm.” Mark awakes suddenly, almost as if he were responding to Taeyong’s unasked question. Taeyong, slightly startled, abruptly halts his train of thoughts and focuses on the dazed (read; simply adorable) face Mark is pulling. He looks like he literally needs an asterisk over his head saying ‘just woke, am soft.’

 

 

“And he lives!” In retrospect, it wasn’t funny, but Taeyong has a shit-eating grin on his face and Mark doesn’t have the strength within him to remind Taeyong that, yes, indeed he has survived a fatal stabbing.

 

 

“We should be at school,” Mark frowns. Taeyong frowns too, but for a different reason. Leave it to the scholarship student to want the most out of his education. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

 

 

“I’m not taking you back to that war ground after you survived being literally almost killed.”

 

 

Mark snorts, but he supposes he has to listen well to Taeyong since he’s totally at the mercy of him anyway. Mark didn’t realize he was so close to Taeyong until he tries to lift his head and comes face to face with possibly the most handsome person he’s ever encountered (and that was saying a lot because he saw some pretty amazing people from Canada and the States and in his short visits to Seoul prior). Adding them all up didn’t quite amount to the beauty and easy grace Taeyong exuded on a daily basis.

 

 

Take now, for example. How did one look this good with disheveled bed hair and a loose silky white shirt? Mark swallows thickly before rolling so he’s flat on his back, much to Taeyong’s disappointment.

 

 

“I’m going back tomorrow though,” Mark decides, for himself. He was a fairly independent guy. He had to be. Learned to fend for himself in a world where nobody was unconditionally on his side, supporting him, making a team with him.

 

 

“Fine,” Taeyong sighs, “we’ll go back tomorrow.”

 

 

Mark flips himself over into the pillow and hides his wide smile. He has no explanation as to why the fact that Taeyong sticks to him and declares he’ll do what Mark does makes his heart skip a beat. “nothing,” is all he manages to say though when Taeyong asks what’s making him hide his ‘pretty lil face.’

 

* * *

 

The door kicks open and harshly bumps against the white wall revealing a livid Doyoung. Nobody ever confirmed it before, but when Taeyong was away he was the official un-official leader of the group. Part of it was because Doyoung knew Taeyong the longest and Taeyong would probably want it that way, and another part of it was everybody (even Doyoung’s close circles) were all secretly kinda afraid of the effortlessly killer vibes he carried when he choose to.

 

 

Jaehyun’s by his side in one fluid motion, seemingly gliding into place to ask what’s wrong. Doyoung wordlessly unfolds his clenched fist to show a crumpled flyer. Curious, the members crowd around to look at the paper Jaehyun unfolds cautiously, all the while watching Doyoung’s face for a reaction. Doyoung doesn’t look at any of them, he simply walks to the edge of the roof with his hands in his pockets, glaring down at the students enjoying their breezy lunch or recess break.

 

 

There’s a soft murmur as the rest of them stare at the paper, not daring to talk above a whisper. After much prodding and losing at a not-so-discreet round of rock paper scissors, Jungwoo finally clears his throat and calls out, “Uhh, Doyoung-hyung?”

 

 

Doyoung turns, his gaze lazily as to not betray the bubbling anger inside.

 

 

“Is this… Mark?”

 

 

Granted, it was a stupid question, because anybody with two eyes could clearly tell that it was Mark. The other person, the one Mark happened to be locking lips with had been conveniently blurred out by the darkness and intentional angle of the shot, but the others could take a guess at who it was. Of course, Doyoung didn’t care if the gang could place him there and he got exposed kissing Taeyong’s ‘complicated some person’ because what the hell, it happened. They sure as hell can’t change that. What does piss him off to no end was the words under it.

 

 

**“MARK LEE: AN INFESTED FAG!!”**

 

 

Doyoung’s whole body shakes again as he reads those bold words, even if he knew they were there it made him see red. To say he was livid was the grandest understatement of the century. The anger flares and burns so hot that when he grips his hand into calculated fist they almost cripple with how much power he’s trying to force into them.

 

 

“There are flyers all over campus,” Doyoung whispers darkly, and the others don’t dare to miss a word. “All of them better be down before the final bell rings.”

 

 

They all nod in understanding and file out. Doyoung lets out a heated breath and thanks the lords Mark (or Taeyong) weren’t here when this happened. Although, he had a growing suspicion that the person timed this perfectly to make sure when Mark got back he’d be crushed. They were planning on kicking Mark when he was down and crushing him when he didn’t expect it, upon his return. Not if Kim Doyoung can help it.

 

 

“Lucas and Winwin,” the two plutocrat cousins turn in perfect harmony, as if they’re hips are attached by an invisible string. While Lucas, newer to Korea and the gang, looks slightly nervous at being stopped the older, Dong Sicheng, emits a tranquil energy. He looks bored, almost, with how calm his steady gaze is. Sicheng was one of the most loyal people Doyoung had the pleasure of knowing, and thus, he was always ready for anything.

 

 

“We should find who did this, shouldn’t we?”

 

 

For a fraction of a second Winwin smirks, and Lucas - upon seeing that in his dearest cousin’s face- pumps his fist dramatically in the air and shouts “OKAY!” so that the whole school could probably hear it, even over the lunch-time student radio broadcast. Let all of SM Academy know that the cousins were coming, and if they wanted to, they found you.

 

* * *

 

Despite using rubbing alcohol and soap and multiple people the words aren’t coming off of Mark’s locker and Doyoung is seconds away from literally ripping it off the hinges. “Get it off!” Doyoung hisses, and Jaehyun doesn’t know how to explain that they’re trying. Johnny, tapping his foot next to Doyoung finally has had enough of the BS. He’s also seen the flyer. Taeyong’s TY Crew worked quick, but the whole school had probably caught a whiff of the rumor. Although, nobody would dare to even whisper it in their presence, probably because of the events that took place earlier.

 

 

_Doyoung was literally an angel student. All the students moved out of the way for him, but it was mostly because he was with Taeyong all the time. He’d pass them by and nod, almost apologetically, at the harshness Taeyong discharged with his mere stride. He was such a contrast from his counterpart, which in retrospect probably emphasized his kindness. Anyway, the point was, the whole student body loved him, begged him to run for Student Body President (assuring him he’d win), and he knew he would. But he refused._

 

 

_The teachers were eating out of his hands. His grades? Never went below a 97. He was some sort of genius, in every field too. Plus, add that to the fact that his father had donated a small fortune (as in the whole Liberal Arts wing) to SM, and Doyoung's untouchable. He's pretty sure if he just asked nicely the principle would get on his knees and clean Doyoung’s shoes. Not that he would ever push it that far though. He was the wittiest and most dangerous in that sense. He knew what and who to be in front of different people._

 

 

_He had an image to keep, one he cut and edited and perfected over his many years associating with the top of Korea’s food chain. Yet it was all mere seconds from crashing down on his head and hitting him where it hurt. Was it worth it, for Mark Lee? Doyoung thinks definitely. Let the world know he could be Lucifer himself if anybody touched the transfer. Doyoung’s about to stand on the table and yell at all the juniors in the cafeteria to fucking clear their heads and phones and any devices of the problematic flyer when someone beats him to it._

 

 

_“HEY! EVERYBODY QUIET!” Seo Youngho. Johnny. He literally towers over everybody and demands attention without doing anything but standing in the middle of the cafeteria. If anybody wanted any form of education, they went through Johnny’s family. The Seos. Multi-millionaires in not just one currency. All of their money and connections was heavily in owning the world’s best private schools, private Hakwons, and private academies. Plus, the Deans and Principles of the best places were somehow related to a Seo. It was as if Johnny had a megaphone because suddenly everyone, even the radio, goes silent._

 

 

_“AS YOU KNOW MARK IS MY FRIEND. IF I HEAR OR SEE ANYONE TALK BADLY ABOUT HIM I WILL PERSONALLY MAKE SURE YOU NEVER GET ANY SORT OF DEGREE. THE BEST YOU’LL BE IN LIFE IS A BEGGAR. EVERYONE UNDERSTAND?”_

 

 

_They all did. But just for extra insurance, the young 2nd year hops up next to Johnny, fueled by his hyung’s bravery to finally speak up._

 

 

_Lee Donghyuck. Haechan. The whole police department’s son. Literally, there was not one policeman who didn’t know him. “AND IF THAT DOESN’T SCARE YOU,” Donghyuck smirks, there were always kids buying their ways into schools and faking degrees, but nobody got past his family. They were more of a power crazy family than a money crazy one (although don’t be fooled because if his multiple cars and penthouses proved anything his family was also veryyy comfortable). “I THINK MY BACKUP SHOWING UP IN YOUR APARTMENTS WITH BLUE BOXES WILL.”_

 

 

_That did it. That was it. The cherry on top. The icing on the cake. Every family in the whole academy had at least one shady, one underground, one deeply hushed up secret that Donghyuck could uncover and choose to investigate with the snap of his two fingers. With the public interest in corruption and the first class it was only a matter of quick seconds before whole empires crumpled. For example, korean airlines. One viral peanut video and suddenly Donghyuck’s family pounced on them investigating every receipt, even how much they spent illegally on groceries with the company card. Their stocks hit rock bottom without having a chance at resurfacing._

 

 

_Doyoung’s ashamed that he couldn’t stand and do the same. Johnny and Donghyuck seemed so sure of what they were doing for their friend. And here Doyoung thought he loved Mark. Doyoung slowly sits back down, his chest constricting because he hadn’t done it first. He worried about his damned image instead of defending the one who really needed the help, the one he had forcefully kissed first. Still, there is one part of his thinking that makes him calm down **‘when Sicheng and Yukhei find the bastard who did this, I’ll end them.’** And then Mark never had to know, never had to know how ugly the kids at SM could get. Because Doyoung swears to himself that as long as he was kicking, Mark would never have to see an unpleasant thing in the world. Not again, anyway._

 

 

So here Doyoung was, addressing the only problem they had left. Mark’s locker. Some kids had gotten to it, apparently not getting the memo that TY’s whole crew and Johnny’s crew would literally end them if they so much as whispered about Mark.

 

 

“What are you guys doing?”

 

 

Doyoung turns without thinking too much about the voice before freezing. Taeyong said he was going to come, per Mark’s request, to pick up the paperwork and assignments the two had missed. Of course this had stressed Doyoung out because he sure as hell didn’t want Taeyong finding out about the flyer incident (and NOT just because his best friend would find out in seconds that Doyoung was indeed the other guy kissing Mark). However, it was better that Taeyong found out sooner than later, so Doyoung had agreed. After checking one fact.

 

 

“You _**said**_. You were coming. **Alone**!” The anger is enunciated so strongly in Doyoung’s voice Taeyong steps back and looks hurt, like he’s been sliced clean through by his friend.

 

 

“I said I’d come along because being stuck at home all day was--- oh…” Mark’s eyes glaze over as soon as he sees the soapy locker; they quickly change to panicked as he realizes what the picture is. Doyoung wants to cry because he failed. The one thing he really wanted to do in this world, more desperately than anything else, suddenly came undone and it was as if someone had went happy go lucky with crazy-string his insides because he’s a mix of everything. Hurt and anger and solid, tangible, raw pain.

 

 

**FAG!**

**IT’S THE QUIET ONES!**

**LMAO GAYYYYY**

**KYS**

 

 

And under all those terrible, smudging slurs, the last flyer they had yet to rip down.

 

 

“I’m so sorry, Mark.”

 

 

If anyone doubted it before, nobody had room for such feelings when Doyoung shoves past Johnny and engulfs Mark in a huge hug. “This is all my fault.” Doyoung can only imagine the turmoil in Mark as he forces himself to swallow tears. He can’t cry. He has no right. But when the tears come and Mark, being the ever caring and understanding guy he is (without even knowing the full situation), pats his back in reassurance Doyoung lets them fall. Much to everyone’s awe. The boy who stood through rainstorms and hurricanes in his life without so much as blinking, was breaking down. But fuck it all because Doyoung lets the sobs rush out of him. Because he’s so sorry. So sorry for putting a target on Mark’s back. For tainting Mark. For changing his quiet life and being unable to fix it, put it back to the way it was.

 

 

Even Taeyong, who’s unquestionably hurt and confused by the progression of things silently lets Doyoung stay with Mark, because despite it all he did care for his best friend. Taeyong and Johnny make eye contact, and both know that Doyoung blames himself; he always did when things went wrong. Like that time with Minsu. And maybe this situation reminds them (Doyoung especially) of their late friend. So everyone watches, somenly without judgement, until Doyoung finally pulls away and puts his stone walls back into place.

 

 

As if he never even trembled, Doyoung stands and wipes his perfectly clean face of any evidence of tears. With perfect timing Sicheng walks up to them and if he’s surprised at Taeyong and Mark’s presence, he doesn’t show it (unlike Yukhei who’s yelling ‘wHAt?! hOW?!’ in the back, inadvertently lightening up the mood, even if it’s for a second).

 

 

“We know who did it.”

 

 

Everyone tunes in. “Good. Now, who do I need to kill?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taeyong is a flyer, and the school had flyers?! HA? Hence the title? No? I'm sorry.
> 
> I tried to get all philosophical and use a bunch of  allusions but it just became corny. Regardless I hope this was bearable! Thank you for reading!


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